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“ HEBE IS TOUR BRIDE.” THE SCARCELY UTTERED WORDS DIE IN A WILD 
SCREAM AT A TERRIBLE SIGHT.~(P. 16.) 


S'kst 

THE SELECT SERIES. 

A MONTHLY PUBLICATION, 

Devoted to Good Reading in. American Fiction. 

Subscription Price, $3.00 Per Year. No. 22.— MAY, 1889 

Entered at the Post Office , Neio York, as Second-Class Matter. 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


u 



Author or “Only One Sin,” “Another Man’s Wife,” 
“A Heart’s Idol,” etc. 


NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 

CsO 


/fff 




. C5T7 

Vie. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, 

By Street & Smith, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS 


CHAPTER I. 

“THE MOTHER'S FATE PURSUES THE CHILD." 

“ Lady Burton — dear Lady Burton, only fancy what is 
the latest item of society news!" 

Lady Burton slowly dropped the old and yellow letter 
with the faded lines, and turned to greet the brilliant girl, 
whose piquant, cheerful face looked out from under the 
plumed hat. 

“ My dear Grace, you always have some startling ‘ Notes 
on the Fashionable World.' What now?" 

Grace Fanshaw dropped on an ottoman, and laid her 
glove on her friend’s knee. She had news to startle Lady 
Burton. What joy! 

“Violet Ainslie is to marry Lord Norman Leigh in a 
month." 

“ Violet Ainslie to be married! and so soon! I cannot 
believe it, Grace." 

“ You may, Lady Burton — it is certainly so. I was with 
Lady Clare Montressor last evening, and she showed me a 
note that Violet had written, asking her to be her first bride- 
maid." 

“Two months ago Violet spent a week with me before I 
went to Italy, and she said that she did not wish nor expect 


6 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


to marry. She seemed to have an aversion to the idea of 
marriage.” 

“ Well, poor dear, who wouldn’t in her case?” cried 
Grace. “ With two millions of pounds in her own right, 
what is a girl to look for? The instant she appears in pub- 
lic every eye is on her. How can she ever expect to be 
loved, followed, admired, courted, without reference to her 
immense fortune? Violet had come to have a mania about 
it.” 

“ The perils of a great heiress are as terrible as those of a 
great beauty,” said Lady Burton. “ Violet had her mil- 
lions impressed on her from the time she could hear any- 
thing — they had been the chorus of her life — and Lord 
Leigh is surely the — a ” 

“ Happy man? Yes — at least Violet so asserts him in 
the note. You look doubtful, Lady Burton.” 

“ I thought he was paying attention to Lady Clare Mon- 
tressor herself, three years ago.” 

“ That was before his father died — he has not since.” 

“ But this is all very sudden. Lord Leigh was paying 
her no more attention than others were two months ago. 
Indeed Violet shrank from attention.” 

“I know it. She seemed never able to receive it in 
pleased frankness as an honest tribute; there were always 
the millions, you know. And then, you know, Violet is as 
shy as a five-year-old child, and has been brought up in se- 
clusion, like a nun — the Ainslies seemed always afraid some 
one would run off with the millions.” 

“ The mother’s fate pursues the child,” sighed Lady Bur- 
ton. 

“ Hear Lady Burton, what are you saying? See, here is 
this letter you were reading fallen to the floor.” 

“ My dear Grace, it is a singular coincidence; this old 
letter was written to me by Violet’s mother just before her 
marriage. I was her bride-maid. I loved her well.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“ She was a Lady Lucy Montressor, Lady Clare's aunt?" 

“ Yes, and as unfortunate in having too little money 
as her child is in having too much. There were five 
daughters and a son — ancient and poor — as some recent 
earls had indulged in gambling and horse-racing. They all 
married rich — Lady Lucy, in marrying the banker, Fred- 
erick Ainslie, richest of all. The present earl married the 
heiress of a great manufacturer " 

“ And Lady Lucy died young?" 

“ She married at seventeen, and died at twenty-nine, 
when her only child was two years old." 

“ Do you know, Violet seems to me like a little princess 
out of a fairy tale. J ust think of the ten years, from five 
to fifteen, that she spent with her grandmother in the great 
gray, grim, ancient mansion in the Lincolnshire fens — a 
real ‘ Mariana in the Moated Grange!' Fancy! She saw no 
one but the grandmother, the servants, the governess, the 
rector, and the lawyer. Every one of them older than the 
other, and she never was allowed to read poetry, except 
some dreadful old stuff out of date long ago, never a novel, 
nor to see a young person, and when the grandmother died, 
it was as if Violet was let out of a great state prison, as his- 
toric princesses from the tower." 

“ It was so, indeed. And owing to her shyness, and the 
domestic tastes of her aunt, Mrs. Ainslie, Violet, with only 
her very moderate knowledge of society, gained in part of 
one quiet season, is still to all intents a twelve-year-old 
child!" 

“You quite frighten me, putting it that way," said 
Grace, ready tears sweeping into her bright eyes. “ Indeed 
the girl can hardly know her mind." 

Lady Burton bent her head on her hand, a look of deep 
anxiety passing over her pale, high-bred face. 

“Do not grieve, dear Lady Burton," said the spoiled 
beauty at her feet, patting her cheek; “let us have no dark 


8 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


prognostications at the marriage of so sweet a creature as 
Violet Ainslie.” 

“She is sweet, indeed. I think- 1 never met a more fair, 
charming creature. Heaven only knows how I have hoped 
and prayed for her happiness.” 

“I know you love her, even better than any of the rest 
of us, dear Lady Burton, and you are only too good to all 
of us.” 

Lady Burton was the ideal and the idol of a large circle 
of young girls, and her influence over them was ennobling 
and delightful. She loved to surround herself with bloom- 
ing youth and high spirits, to elevate their sentiments and 
cultivate their hearts. Her preference was a sort of high 
mark for the moral and mental dispositions of those she 
selected for her favorites. She smiled as Grace spoke. 

“ I think it is impossible to be too good to any of you. 
It is indeed ‘a rosebud garden of girls/ by which I am 
continually surrounded,” and she bent to kiss the red, 
laughing lips. 

“We shall be a rosebud garden, or garland of girls, I 
assure you, at Violet’s wedding — fourteen of us — only fancy.” 

Lady Burton sighed deeply. 

“Why, don’t sigh as if it was an execution, dearest,” 
cried the lively maiden. “ Violet is past eighteen, and — 
oh, let me tell you what my aunt said this very morning, 
‘she is marrying one of the oldest titles in England.’ Just 
as if it were the title , not the man” 

“Heaven send it is the man, with a good, true, loyal, 
well-founded love between them,” said Lady Burton, who 
had lived to see many very miserable matches, many shame- 
fully broken ones, and many supremely happy ones. She 
herself could speak from experience on both sides. Her 
first marriage had been a misery, nobly endured, so long 
as God willed; her second a union of two brave, loving 
hearts. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


9 


“ You must give her all manner of good advice," said 
Grace, tapping Lady Burton's hand, as she saw her fall into 
reverie. 

“ I must, indeed. I returned only yesterday from 
France." 

“And your poor cousin died while you were with her. 
Pardon me for not having spoken of it before. 

“ It was an end long expected. I was looking in my cab- 
inet for an old letter from her, when I came upon these, 
from my early friend. Lady Lucy Montressor." 

“ At least. Lady Burton, Violet need not fear that Lord 
Leigh is marrying her for her millions. He can afford to 
marry for love; he is rich in money, as in antiquity of title; 
and he is young and good-looking, and a very good fellow. 
No one ever heard a word against him. He is grave, shy, 
not so very fond of society, a little gloomy, perhaps. I 
never saw any one take a thing to heart as he did his 
father's death, and you know the old saying, * a good son ’ 
makes a good husband.'" 

“My dear Grace," cried Lady Burton, “let me kiss you. 
You are the most comforting creature. You always speak 
good of people. It is a lovely quality in you." 

“ But in this case. Lady Burton, there is only good to be 
said. I hear your horses before the door. My aunt's coupe 
is there for me. My love to Violet." 

A few moments after Lady Barton had entered her own 
coupe, and ordered the coachman “to 9 Portland place." 

It was the residence of the banker, Henry Ainslie. 

“Miss Ainslie is never engaged to you, my lady," said 
the footman, “ though she is refused to all others this morn- 
ing." 

Too impatient to sit down, Lady Burton walked about 
the drawing-room for a moment or two. The owner had 
no titles and the mistress of the house was but of homely 
taste, but, by grace of unlimited money, it was one of the 


10 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS . 


finest drawing-rooms in London, as became the dwelling of 
a prince of finance. In a moment Violet’s maid entered. 

“ Would you come up to Miss Ainslie’s boudoir, my lady? 
She is anxious to see you, but cannot come down.” 


CHAPTER II. 

“DO YOU TRULY LOVE?” 

Lady Burton went up the well-known stair, and the maid 
threw open the door of the heiress’ boudoir. The most 
fashionable mantau-maker in London, and her three chief 
assistants, were in possession. Leaning back in a great 
stuffed chair, her eye-glasses in hand, her face illuminated 
with pride and interest, was the portly, kindly figure of 
Mrs. Ainsliie, the banker’s wife. 

In the center of the room, and the cynosure of all eyes, 
was a charming, dainty girl-figure, with white, dimpled 
arms, statuesquely folded, all clad from shoulders to toe in 
the white of a cambric dressing-jacket and her white petti- 
coat, with its multitudinous lace frills, while before her 
knelt Madame Lamlini, the modiste, holding against her 
“subject” ample folds of silk and lace, a mass that looked 
like tne curled and crested foam-bright waves of the sea. 

In half-undress, standing to be draped and fitted, bare- 
necked, bare-armed, pensive, silent, lost as in some curious 
maze, this was she, Violet Ainslie, the great heiress, the 
orphan holder of burdensome millions, doomed to be her 
curse. 

The opening of the boudoir door drew the girl from her 
fancies with a start. She held out her hand. 

“ I am a prisoner des modes,” she said. 

Mrs. Ainslie came forward, her usual heartiness intensi- 
fied by her honest regard and as honest awe for Lady Bur- 
ton. 

“ So good of you, Lady Burton, to come to us. Violet 
was to go to you as soon as Madame Lambini released her; 
but you see now we are so hurried in our preparations ” 

Meanwhile two small, tremulous hands had seized upon 
Lady Burton, and held her fast, with a nervous, almost 
despairing clasp. Her right hand thus imprisoned. Lady 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


II 


Burton smiled, and was obliged to offer her left hand to 
Mrs. Ainslie, who accepted it with ardor. 

(( I see,” said Lady Burton, looking about, “that it is 
true.” 

“ Oh, yes, quite true,” said Mrs. Ainslie, with open de- 
light. 

Lady Burton turned a clear, steadfast, searching eye on 
Violet’s flushing face. 

“ Let me go instantly, madam,” cried Violet. “ I have 
chosen enough for you to begin on. I am tired. Kate, a 
dressing-wrap.” 

Kate threw a down-trimmed robe over her young lady’s 
shoulders; and Violet, still holding Lady Burton’s hand, 
drew her into her dressing-room, and, the instant the door 
was -shut, threw herself with a burst of tears upon the bosom 
of her friend. 

Lady Burton, folding the girl in her arms, allowed this 
emotion to have its way. Presently Violet recovered her- 
self, pushed back the moist ripples of brown hair from her 
forehead, and a smile flashed through her tears, like the 
sun through summer rain. 

“Forgive me! You always look so motherly to me, that 
it is in your presence I give way.” 

“ Let me be motherly,” said Lady Burton, leading her to 
a divan and holding her clasped in her a.rm. “ I loved your 
mother. To-day I come to you in her name. May I speak, 
and will you answer freely?” 

“ Indeed, yes.” 

“ Are these tears sorrow or excitement?” 

“ I think — excitement,”, said Violet, with a fascinating 
little smile. 

“My child, do you truly love the man you are to marry?” 
Violet locked and unlocked her pink fingers as she said, 
with a pathetic droop of her mouth, and her straight look: 

“ Lady Burton, I do not know.” 

Such an answer, before an announced engagement, would 
have roused Lady Burton to vigorous protest. Now another 
course was needful. 

“Violet, do you love this man beyond all others? Is he 
more pleasing to you than other men?” 

“ Lady Burton, you know I have seen almost nothing of 
men. I saw no men until I came here three years ago — 
few since, until this season; and then, oh, I have been 


12 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


taught to suspect them all. I have refused ten; ten who 
hardly knew me! It was too dreadful !” 

“ Violet, are you sure you so much prefer this man to 
others, that he will always be your preference?” 

“ Lady Burton,” said Violet, erecting her pretty head, 
“ I should never fail to do my duty!” 

“Bear with me while I search your heart. We human 
beings are so weak, beyond our dream, that sometimes we 
are betrayed by ourselves, before we are aware. Is it a joy, 
a content, to think of spending your life with Lord Leigh ? 
The years of our life may be many and long. While youth 
is glowing, while maturity ripens, while age comes on, will 
you be content to spend your life in the shadow of this man’s 
love, and within the circle of his arm?” 

“I suppose so,” said Violet, hesitatingly, and with a 
troubled look, “I have as yet thought of it only in this 
way. I shall be .safe only in my own home, and no longer 
the golden apple of conflict between the Ainslies and Mon- 
tressors. My poor, kind aunt will not longer be victimized 
and tortured by the Montressor aunts on my behalf, my 
uncle will no longer assure me that he is getting gray in 
caring for my dreadful millions. I will no longer be pur- 
sued for my millions, and having old men and young, good 
and bad — men I hardly know by sight — flinging themselves 
at my feet, and protest they desire only my love, and to 
hear Uncle Henry say solemnly, ‘ Another, Violet!’ This 
is the sixth, eight, tenth, as the case may be, just as if I 
were the boldest coquette; and aunt reply, with a groan, 
‘poor dear, what can you expect?’” 

“ Yes, my child, I understand. This is a little evil pic- 
ture, that comes linked with your great fortune. But do 
you love your chosen husband enough to yield to his wishes; 
to prefer his wishes to your own, to seek first his comfort? 
To make his comfort the study of your life, as heretofore 
your own comfort has been?” 

“ Must I do all that?” said Violet, innocently. 

“ These expectations and plans seem natural to real love.” 

“Perhaps they will come in time?” suggested Violet. 

“ Love can and does grow if cherished. But let me warn 
you, dear, that no woman, not even an unloved wife, is so 
unhappy as an unloving wife. Love and self-sacrifice 
bring their own consolations. I see no comfort for the wife 
who does not love.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


13 


“ Perhaps I do love Lord Leigh; he is very — nice,” said 
Violet, meditatively, but the tone made Lady Burton's heart 
sink with fear; while the girl added quickly, “And 
really, he is, I think, very fond of me. He has asked me 
three times ” 

“Fond of you!” cried Lady Burton, “could any man in 
his senses be less than fond of such an innocent, winsome 
creature as you, Violet?” 

“You see, he is so rich, I feel as if he can love me for 
myself,” said Violet, with a flush. “ He cannot he fortune- 
hunting. I respect Lord Leigh. I like him; and when I 
get used to the idea, I think, Lady Burton, I am capable 
of loving.” 

“ My darling, you were born to love — warmly.” 

“ But, if I found he had deceived me — not loved me for 
myself — oh, how unutterably I should hate him, or any 
one.” 

Lady Burton trembled at the girl's tone and her pallor. 

“ It is not likely in his case. But, Violet, do delay this 
marriage.” 

“No, no; it is too late. I cannot endure this being 
hunted. No, I must take my risk now, before I am hunted 
to death.” 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE SMITTEN BKIEE. 

% 

Leaving Violet in the hands of maids and modistes, Lady 
Burton went down stairs with the effusive Mrs. Ainslie at 
her side. 

“ Dear Lady Burton, I hope you are pleased. If we had 
had your address you should have been the first to be fore- 
warned, but, then, it has really been very sudden, and 
Violet was going to you this morning.” 

“ But what was the occasion of so hasty a decision?” asked 
Lady Burton, calmly. “I had hoped Violet, in her 
peculiar position, would wait a year or two.” 

“ Oh, Lady Burton, a year or two! How can you! I as- 
sure you Henry and I would both be in our graves with 
anxiety. He is more weighed down by the care of her for- 
tune than by all his other business. And as for me, I can 


14 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


hardly sleep nights for fear the darling girl should make a 
bad match. Lord Leigh is such an admirable match, 
every way. His title, family, great fortune, manners — a 
little cold and sad — but amiable, honorable, unblemished 
reputation. Why," cried Mrs. Ainslie, warming with her 
subject, he is the great match of the season; every* one 
wanted him!" 

Lady Burton smiled a little at that way of putting it. 

“But, Mrs. Ainslie, while I know all this is true, if she 
does not really love him, what comfort in marriage?" 

“ Love, my dear Lady Burton, for her it will come in its 
day. She knows no more of it now than a vestal, and she 
never will until she is married. She is a victim of a mania 
about fortune-hunters." 

“ She lacks vanity — a consciousness of her own desert — 
and I think you have all contributed to this idea." 

“ Well, I really believe she loves Lord Leigh, and that 
he loves her. Why not?" 

“I don't see how he could help it, truly." 

“ Do, Lady Burton, peep into the conservatory. Is it 
not exquisite? Well, just there, on that seat, under the 
orange tree in bloom, he proposed. I came in after a few 
minutes. I admit I was distracted to know if she would do 
what was for her happiness; and he said, ' Mrs. Ainslie, 
Violet has done me the honor to accept me.' Think if I 
was glad!" 

“Still, I wish they would wait a year to consider." 

“Oh, Lady Burton, a year! Why, she wanted to wait 
three months, and he was so desperate for an immediate 
marriage that finally she yielded. And for me it comes 
just right. I expect to have the two elder girls introduced 
next season, and I shall take the whole family to the Con- 
tinent as soon as Violet is off my hands. The girls need 
six months there to finish up their French and German. 
Dear things, I can now give up all my time to them. Only 
think, how dangerously Violet would have been in their 
way, and now she will help them on. With Lady Leigh 
they can go everywhere. It will relieve me of half my 
cares." 

“ I see; but in this marriage Violet is the one to consider." 

“ But I do consider. Think if I am not proud and glad 
to restore her to the position her grandmother Montressor 
occupied — an earl's wife. Violet will be a sweet countess." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


15 


“ Would she be a happy countess?” thought Lady Burton. 

It was idle to stay and hear Mrs. Ainslie talk longer. 
The best-natured creature in the world, she had attained the 
nearest summit of her hopes, and saw before her, in joyful 
near existence, pinnacles of coroneted glory for her troop of 
plain, jolly, honest-hearted girls. 

Mrs. Ainslie kept Violet in a tumult of splendid prepara- 
tions. Gifts poured in. Ainslie and Leigh jewels were re- 
set to grace the wealthiest bride that ever had entered the 
ever fortunate house of Leigh. As for Violet, hers was an 
hour of bewilderment. Her aunt’s approbation shone on 
her; the congratulations of all the family greeted her; peace 
was proclaimed between the Montressors — her mother’s pa- 
trician house — and the rich Ainslies, who had been left 
guardian of her person and property by her father. She 
drifted on this favoring tide. 

Lady Burton spoke again to Violet upon the subject of 
her marriage. 

“ My child, if you have any hesitation or objection, it is 
not too late. Better be called a coquette, than be a love- 
less, reluctant wife. Leave all, and come with me. I will 
take you to America, to Egypt, anywhere, until the com- 
ment has passed.” 

“No, Lady Burton, I think I am right, and shall be 
happy. I think I am loved for myself alone. The only 
time any one seemed to care for me, not knowing I was 
rich, that one forgot me at one q— forgot me !” 

“ Violet, is there any one whom you love, whose image 
lies in your heart?” 

“Indeed, no — a thousand times no! I hate him! — the 
mercenary wretch!” 

“ Why, Violet!” said Lady Burton, “I am surprised!” 

She could say no more, for a secret feeling of honor held 
her bound. By her first marriage Lady Burton had a son — 
Lord Kenneth Keith — and she had hoped, solely because 
she loved Violet, that some day Violet and Kenneth might 
meet and love. Violet’s singular whim — fostered, yes, im- 
planted by her grandmother, that all who sought her sought 
her for her fortune — had kept Lady Burton from speak- 
ing of her son, who was abroad, and from bringing him 
home to introduce to Violet. She had wished Violet to 
have experience and freedom of choice before they met. 
But this, her secret wish, held her from opposing this mar- 


16 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


riage. Might she not be speaking rather her own desire* 
than inner righteousness in the case? 

The marriage morning, the first of June* dawned fair — 
matchless day for a matchless wedding scene. 

The space about the chancel of St. George seemed as if 
filled by bands of angels, when Violet Ainslee stood there, 
with her fourteen lovely attendants. Surrounded with 
beauty, music, flowers, fragrance, friends, Violet held out 
that soft, white, well-dowered hand to Lord Norman Leigh* 
and her sweet lips said, softly* “ I will.” 

Neither bride, nor groom* nor priest, nor people dreamed 
that, heavy and remorseless as the blow of “the hammer of 
Thor,” a terrible wrong and fate would crush and Shatter 
that vow before it had been kept for one brief hour! Sun- 
shine in glory blazing all about her, and, under the sun- 
shine, cruel destruction darkening over the life of this inno- 
cent child. 

****** 

The wedding breakfast is over; carriages wait; the Ains- 
lies and the Montressors are in blissful amity. In the mag- 
nificent boudoir of Mrs. Ainslie the groom is to see his 
bride for a moment alone before she is taken to put on her 
traveling-dress, as they set forth for Paris and Italy. A 
matchless bride of sweet and sunny beauty, and all blessed 
possibilities, she stands, as her aunt left her, gleaming in 
satin, lace, and pearls, her bridal flowers in her hand, her 
face bent over the sweet, languishing, fatal breath, of one 
central tuberose. 

A tuberose in a bridal bouquet! 

******* 

Mrs. Ainslie opens the door for Lord Norman Leigh. 

“ Here is your bride.” 

The scarcely uttered words die in a wild scream at a ter- 
rible sight. 

Yes, here is his bride — a white, still, prostrate figure, ly- 
ing supine on the floor, in all her glory of iewels and lace, 
in all the gorgeous color of the boudoir— all the hope and 
the radiance gone out of her bridal day! 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


17 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. 

What had smitten hope, courage, happiness out of the 
bride of an hour? What had stopped the bounding pulses 
of her sweet young life, and laid her cold, silent, prostrate, 
as one dead? 

These are not Borgia or De Medici times, when one sends 
poison in a bouquet. It was not her bridal flowers, not 
even Lady Clare Montressor’s tuberose that had sealed her 
fate. No. Upon her untried, innocent, unspecting ear 
had fallen the unaccustomed voice of truth; and oh, how 
chilling, how cruel, how terrible, how fatal truth can some- 
times be! The naked truth is sometimes as deadly and un- 
sparing as a naked sword. 

When Mrs. Ainslie, full of pride, joy, benevolence to all 
the world, threw open the door of her boudoir to her new 
and titled nephew, to put him face to face with the charm- 
ing, white- vailed, innocent creature, whose life had just 
been indissolubly bound to his own, and instead of blush- 
ing cheeks and smiling eyes, saw prostration, rigidity, pal- 
lor, unconsciousness, she gave a wild cry: 

“■She is dead! she is dead!" 

Lord Leigh, with a look of terror, bent over his fallen 
bride. The treasure he had won with a swift good fortune 
that surprised himself, was it to be lost as soon as won? 
Then he felt life still fluttering in the tender frame, and re- 
called that the house was full of guests. He was one who 
lived in careful regard of public opinion, concealing all that 
might arouse remark. 

“It is a fainting attack," he said. “ Give me your vin- 
agrette. Call Sir Roger Parker, please; he is below; and 
bring a maid, Mrs. Ainslie; but do not seem alarmed." 

His composed manner had neither the ardor nor anxiety 
of a devoted young lover trembling for his idol; but its calm 
practicality restored Mrs. Ainslie’s courage. 

Left alone for an instant with his insensible bride. Lord 
Leigh, while- endeavoring to restore her, had his eyes fixed 


18 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


rather on the room than on Violet. He scanned every cor- 
ner. It was a room without concealments — no closets, no 
heavy draperies. 

“ If that demon has done this,” he said, between his set 
teeth, his usually indifferent, grave face contracting in a 
look of rage, “ I would feel equal to something desperate. 
But no! she cannot have been here.” 

“What is this?” cried a voice at his side. “ Oh, I knew 
something would happen!” 

It was Lady Burton. Mrs. Ainslie’s cry had reached an 
ear alert for sounds of woe. All that brilliant wedding-day 
Lady Burton had been haunted by anxiety, and when that 
one scream came to her, as she stood with some of the lady’s 
maids in Violet s boudoir waiting to see the bride dressed 
in her traveling costume, she felt the shrill cry of confirma- 
tion of her fears, and hastened to the room where was the 
new-made Countess of Leigh. 

“ This is not an ordinary fainting fit,” said Lady Burton, 
as Sir Roger Parker bent over the still form, and Mr. and 
Mrs. Ainslie anxiously awaited his verdict. 

“ It looks like a severe and sudden nervous shock,” said 
the court physician ; “yet that is quite impossible.” 

“ Certainly it is impossible,” said Lord Leigh. “ She is 
all health and happiness, and has not been alone five minutes 
to-day.” 

She had been alone fifteen — a fatal fifteen. 

“She is reviving,” said Mrs. Ainslie, presently, and 
stole away to still any rumors that might arise among her 
guests. 

Shortly life came back in tremulous thrills to that pros- 
trate form; the delicate color stole into the round cheeks; 
the pearly throat began to flutter with returning respira- 
tion, and then the sweet brown eyes opened wide. Sir Roger 
naturally thought that the face of the young husband would 
be the most comforting sight for those lovely eyes, and 
stepped back to give place to his lordship, who bent over 
his bride •with a look of assured possession. 

Violet met that look with a gaze of horror and intense 
aversion. Then the dainty form shook from head to foot, 
entire consciousness had come with a weight of woe; her 
hand, that soft little hand, whereon shone the diamond 
half-circle of their engagement-ring, and the plain thick cir- 
cle given that morning at the sacred altar, was laid upon 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


19 


her bridegroom's breast, as with all her little strength she 
pushed him from her. 

Then, she turned, threw her arm about Lady Burton's 
neck, hid her face on her bosom, and burst into tears. 

“ I think we will do well to leave your countess alone for 
a time with Lady Burton," said Sir Roger, calmly. 

“What do you think of her? What does this mean?" 
asked Lord Leigh, as he left the room with the physician. 

“ Simply terror, excitement, a sudden vague alarm," said 
Sir Roger, quietly. “ The feelings of young girls have very 
singular developments. I am surprised at nothing. In a 
little time she will recover herself." 

Lord Leigh looked at him narrowly. He had seen, and 
had he not comprehended the look in Violet's eyes, the action 
of her hand? Evidently not. They meant much to Lord 
Leigh, although he could not reach their cause. 

Left alone with Violet, Lady Burton gently stroked her 
hair, seeking to soothe her by silence and tenderness, but 
full of grievous apprehension. There had been some ter- 
rible nervous shock, some heart shock. Lady Burton could 
not be deceived; and the bridegroom, with his anxiety about 
the effect on others, rather than of his bride — he realized it 
also. 

“My sweet, are you better?" said Lady Burton. 

“ No, no, I shall never be better. Take me away — you said 
you would take me away. Take me to the other side of the 
world. Take me as if I were your child." 

“My darling, if you were my own child I could not 
take you away now, for you are in another's keeping. 
Do you forget — you are to start with your husband for 
Dover. 

“I will not take the train for Dover!" cried Violet, 
sharply. 

“My love! It is necessary — all arrangements are made." 

“I will not go with that man!" cried Violet again. 

“ Violet, what words are these? He is your husband." 

“ Tell me," said the poor young creature, gathering her- 
self up, in all her pallor and her wedding splendors, “have 
those few words bound me to him forever?" 

“They have, indeed, made you fully his wife, till 
death." 

“ Even though now, already, I know that I have made a 
great and horrible mistake — been cruelly deceived?" 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ If that mistake does not include a living wife for him, 
or husband for you, to invalidate this morning’s vow, then 
only a tedious, and terrible, a disgraceful divorce suit, 
Violet, can break the tie you have voluntarily assumed.” 

“ Oh, why did I not take your advice? Why cannot I 
die? Oh, I wish — I wish,” burst out Violet, wildly. 

“ Hush, my child. I only advised a little waiting. I 
know nothing against Lord Leigh. I believe he will be a 
good husband to you ” 

“He shall not be my husband!” shrieked Violet. “I 
will not have him. My uncle shall keep me from him — my 
friends shall protect me.” 

“ My darling, you are his wife; nothing can undo that. 
Only the highest court can divide you two, and that only 
for such cause as I know cannot be shown. Violet, what- 
ever has changed your wish and hope, trample it under 
your feet, and be true to your wifely vow.” 

“ Lady Burton,” said Violet, “ I have heard you were not 
happy in your first marriage.” 

“ I married, as you have, very young, and I was very, 
very unhappy.” 

“And how long did it last?” 

“ For seven years God enabled me to bear my sorrows, in 
quiet and in faithfulness, till He sent release.” 

“And my mother, too, was an unhappy wife?” 

“ She was; but a dutiful and honorable wife, for twelve 
years.” 

“ And women endure such things — such horrible heart 
bitterness, for so long, so long. Oh, it is cruel!” 

“Violet, when all is lost except honor and doing duty, 
then the good woman lives for duty and honor.” 

“ Lady Burton — I hate him /” 

“Violet, cease such rash, wicked words.” 

“And I shall go on detesting him, forever!” 

“Violet, in your mother’s name, I command you to act 
as becomes an honorable woman. Whatever new light may 
have fallen on your marriage, or on Lord Leigh, remember 
you freely accepted him; in a public manner you have 
pledged your faith; the credit of the Ainslies, the Montres- 
sors, and the Leighs is in your keeping — hard or not, as 
your fate may be, all that remains for you is to meet it as a 
loyal, self-respecting woman. Banish such thoughts, bury 
such words as you have spoken to me. Do not give the 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


21 


public reason to call you mad. If you make a display of 
these singular feelings, a blight will rest forever on your 
womanly name.” 

“ There is a blight on my heart,” sobbed Violet. 

“ Then bear it bravely in secret. I tell you, when all is 
lost except honor, one can and must live for honor.” 

Violet lay back exhausted. Dark circles were under her 
eyes; her lips were blanched; such a haggard look of woe 
and despair had fallen over the sweet girlish face that Lady 
Burton's heart ached for her. 

She bent forward to bathe the girl's brow with fragrant 
waters, and as she did so a locket slipped from her bosom 
and fell against Violet's hand, opening as it fell. 

Violet started suddenly, and cried: 

“ Lady Burton, who is this?” 

“ It is my son — Lord Kenneth Keith. It was taken 
several years ago.” 

“ Your son?” said Violet; “ and what is he like? Is he 
good?” 

“ Yes, I believe he is,” said Lady Burton, returning to 
her corsage the picture of a youth handsome as Antinous. 

“ Like his father, your first husband?” queried Violet. 

“ God forbid,” said Lady Burton. 

“ I can tell you what he is like,” said Violet, fiercely; 
“ false, false as Satan — like the rest of men.” 


CHAPTER V. 

“YOU MUST TAKE THE COMSEQUEHCES.” 

After this outburst Violet was quiet, while Lady Burton 
stood in pained silence. Then once again the lady took 
courage to speak. 

“ Violet, the years of your free, happy girlhood lie behind 
you. Your womanhood has begun. It has opened, I know 
not how, in tempest and misery. You have been the idol 
of your family, always indulged, petted. You have many 
virtues; but also, your life has made you something willful 
and jealous. Now, will you allow these traits to master 
you, to make you wretched and grave, until they perhaps 
make you criminal; or will you rise up nobly to do your 
duty, to trample temptations and your faults under foot, 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


and be a true, brave, noble, long-suffering woman? Re- 
member, though we cannot always be happy, by God’s help 
we can always be good.” 

Slowly Violet’s contracted brow relaxed. She drew a 
deep breath. She looked at her friend; her beautiful eyes 
were full of tears. 

“I can, I will be good,” she said. 

“God bless you,” murmured Lady Burton, clasping the 
unhappy girl in her arms. “ I know you will.” 

“ I will tell you my trouble,” said Violet, with a sob, 
“ and I will be guided by you. You know I have always 
had a fear, a terrible fear, of marrying a fortune-hunter, 
of being married for my money, not for love. I accepted Lord 
Leigh, because I believed that he could not have any base 
motive in asking for my hand. Lady Burton, within this 
last hour I have found that I have married not only a man 
who takes me solely for my money, but he is doubly false in 
that he forsakes, for my money, one whom he loves.” 

“Violet!” 

“I assure you it is true.” 

“ Some cruel, officious, jealous scandal-monger has told 
you a falsehood. I do not believe this is true.” 

“ Suppose it were true — what should I do then?” 

“ The only thing left you to do, my poor child, would be 
to act the part of a good wife — to try and win the love of 
your husband, and make him love and esteem you for the 
lovely qualities that he sees daily in you. You are still his 
wife, whether he married you for a good motive or a bad 
one; whether he loves another or yourself. Neither God 
nor man, for either plea, would release you from your mar- 
riage vow.” 

“ It is done,” said Violet, rising to her feet. “ My heart 
is broken, my life is death, joy has passed into bitterness. 
I might have known that no' one could love .me for myself ! 
It is not my fate. The only man who pretended to love 
me, not knowing I was an heiress, abandoned me without 
regret or explanation.” 

“Violet, what is this? You, child, so young, so guarded, 
had you ever a lover?” 

“I thought I had,” said Violet, forlornly; “ but he 
amused himself with making love to me, and left me with- 
out a word. Since that was in him I am glad he went, for 
I loved him. Lady Burton, and I think it would be harder 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


23 


to feel yourself deceived into marriage by one you love, yet 
who does not love you. I have only professed for Lord 
Leigh a liking that I hoped would grow to love under a 
good, disinterested man’s affection. I am denied that; and 
now I must live as well as I can, with a wronged, lonely 
heart.” 

“ Poor Violet, poor little girl!” cried Lady Burton, her 
heart overwhelmed with sorrow, as she kissed the pale, cold 
bride, whose life had grown so sad and dark. “ Take cour- 
age,” she whispered; “ things will be easier and better than 
they seem.” 

“ Never!” said Violet; “for this man, who does not love 
me, who has lied to me at the altar, I must leave the friends 
and relatives who in their way really love me; I must leave 
my hopes, my dreams that I have had, like other girls, and 
I must go even away from England alone with him. Oh, 
Lady Burton, can anything be more forlorn?” 

“ My dear child, consider that whatever you have heard 
— and I cannot conceive how you heard any such stories — 
may be untrue. Lord Leigh may be a good man, sadly 
misrepresented. Do not steel your heart against him who 
is now your protector, your nearest friend.” 

They heard Mrs. Ainslie’s voice in the hall. 

“There is my aunt coming to hurry me away,” said 
Violet. “ Oh, Lady Burton, is there a girl in England 
more desolate?” 

She gathered all her strength of body and mind, and rose 
to go to her dressing-room. But a few steps made she re- 
turned and flung herself into Lady Burton’s arms. 

“ Save me from my fate!” 

“Believe me, your fate will be less hard than you antici- 
pate. You exaggerate this, Violet. Courage, child!” 

She moved again slowly; then stood still. 

Lady Burton, with a sinking heart, seized her hand, and 
firmly led her to the dressing-room. 

She stood there, speechless, pale, in despair rather than 
resignation — as Iphigenia preparing for sacrifice. 

“You are lovelier than ever, darling,” cried Grace Fan- 
shaw, as she buttoned the last button of her pearl-gray 
gloves, and Violet stood in her gray traveling-dress. 

A moment for final adieus; and then a dash across the 
city in a closed coach, and then, as in a mad, bad dream, 


24 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Violet was shut up with her husband in a reserved carriage 
and whirling along the railway to Dover. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“YOU MARRIED ME FOR MY MONEY.” 

Certainly wedded life was not opening for this couple as 
for others. Lord Leigh, having paid every possible atten- 
tion to his bride, and finding all unnoticed, withdrew into 
his own corner of the railroad coach and opened a book. 
His courtship and marriage had proceeded with a fortunate 
smoothness far beyond his hopes. 

But what was this hostility, this mystery that assailed the 
first hours of his new life? 

Next to the charming boudoir, where Mrs. Ainslie had 
taken Violet to wait for her bridegroom, was a room with a 
balcony curtained with honeysuckle and passion-flowers 
closely interwoven. This room had been made over for the 
day to the gentlemen of the guests, and some of them had 
taken possession of the balcony. 

Seated there, in a closely woven bower of green and blos- 
som, they could not see at all that a window was open just 
beside the balcony. But so there was, and in that window 
stood the waiting bride. 

The only excuse for the careless talk of the men in the 
balcony was that they were very young, and as thoughtless 
as they were innocent of evil intention. 

Just as Lady Leigh placed herself at the window to wait 
her bridegroom, these words fell on her ear: 

“ So rank, beauty, and money have run their race, and 
money has won the cup.” 

In her happiness it never occurred to Violet that the 
words referred to her. She stood unprepared for what was 
to come. 

Captain Gore had spoken. Sir Hugh Hunter took up 
the theme: 

“ First there was Lady Clare Montressor; then the vicar’s 
beautiful daughter. Miss Ambrose; and then — the Ainslie 
millions.” 

“Why, man, you don’t mean our bride is not most 

lovely?” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


25 


“Certainly she is lovely — extremely lovely, charming, 
sweet; but Miss Ambrose is one of those beings beyond all 
praise. The most heavenly creature eye ever rested on. 
To see her once is to have her face photographed on your 
heart forever.” 

“ Pooh, Hunter! you are romantic.” 

“ So, so, perhaps. But I tell you it is impossible that a 
man who has loved Miss Ambrose can love another.” 

“No doubt Leigh did not love her then.” 

“ Not? You may believe he did.” 

“ Then, why, in the name of sense, did he give her up? 
Did she jilt him?” 

“ No; she loved him.” 

“ Zounds! is the man so fickle?” said a third. 

“ Must be fickle. He was quite enamored of Lady Clare 
once.” 

“ Attentive, not enamored. Lady Clare is rather cold 
style, you know.” 

“ So is Leigh. Has he been enthusiastic to-day, or the 
last month?” 

“But that is just what I tell you; Miss Ambrose's image 
is in the background.” 

“ That is all nonsense. If he wanted Miss Ambrose, and 
she loved him, it would have been a match. What vicar's 
daughter is going to refuse a lord of Leigh?” 

“ I explained at first. Beauty cannot hold its own with 
such a stunning lot of money. Two million pounds!” 

“ I admit it is a heavy sum, but Leigh did not need it. 
He of all men need not marry for money. He is rich.” 

“ Yes,” said Captain Gore's voice, “ but he's dusedly hard 
up just now. I happen to know that he has a short loan of 
two hundred and fifty thousand pounds out, falling due 
immediately.” 

There was a general exclamation. Then, looking into 
the room, Captain Gore saw Sir Tom Churchill enter, and 
called him. 

“ Churchill, isn't it true that our handsome bridegroom 
has been rather crowded for cash of late?” - 

“What do I know about it?” said Churchill, angrily. 
“ How can you. Gore, be talking about the man's private 
affairs, with dozens of people within hearing?” 

“ 'Pon my soul, I didfe think of that,” said Captain 
Gore, good-naturedly. “However, only our own little 


26 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


clique is here. I see the stories are so, Churchill — you don’t 
deny he is hard up.” 

‘‘Was, you mean,” interrupted the third speaker; “now 
he is easy enough — two millions of pounds is a nice pot of 
reserve cash, by Jove! I wish I’d fallen into it.” 

Open to every terrible word, the sweet young bride had 
stood by that flower-curtained window powerless to move or 
to cry out. Life seemed to remain in her, only to pour 
upon her brain, through her ears, those hideous, shameful, 
agonizing, crushing truths. 

He who had said he loved her preferred others to her, 
and had sought her only for her fortune. He who had 
seemed above reproach and suspicion was the embodi- 
ment of all that she most dreaded. He, to whom she 
had fled for refuge, from fortune-hunting, was the ver- 
iest fortune-hunter of them all. She had given her in- 
nocent heart, her quivering, sensitive soul, irrevocably 
to one who married her that he might pay an enormous 
bill. 

It was then that Violet fell senseless to the floor. She 
heard those miserable truths — then she knew nothing until 
sight and knowledge returned, and bending nearest her, a 
look of ownership in his eyes, was the man who had so 
cruelly deceived her. 

This scene, these thoughts, were still wretchedly repeat- 
ing themselves when the train arrived at Dover, where, as 
they we: : too late for the boat, Lord Leigh had telegraphed 
for apartments, and found himself in possession of a mag- 
nificent suite of rooms, that had been used more than once 
by royalty. 

The splendor of the apartments, the richness of the 
dress in which Kate had arrayed her, the choice supper 
set before her, could not distract the excited mind of 
Violet. 

When she was left alone in the drawing-room with Lord 
Leigh she could not remain seated. In these hours of 
thought her anger had been rising. She moved uneasily 
up and down the room, aud then stood by the hearth, her 
elbow resting on the low jade mantel and her head bent on 
her pink palm, as she looked at the dancing fire. 

“ Lady Leigh,” said the bridegroom, suddenly, having 
gazed for some minutes at the lovely sad face, “ will you 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


27 


kindly tell me how you became so wise to-day as to change 
all your feelings toward me?” 

Violet fixed her eyes on him, and said, slowly: 

“ I heard — that you married me for my money; I heard 
that you married me because you were deeply in debt; I 
heard that you were what I heartily detest, a fortune-hunter; 
I heard that you really loved — as much as you can love — 
another, but forsook her for my millions.” 

“And, Lady Leigh, on your marriage day, you have al- 
lowed a scandal-monger to pour these stories of your hus- 
band into your ears? You have lofty notions of a wife's 
duties!” 

“ Those things were said by your own friends, in a bal- 
cony next where I waited for you, and I could not help 
hearing them, as I am not deaf. Are they true ? 

By an immense effort, Violet had forced herself to 
enough calmness for this explanation, for this heavy charge. 
Now she had reached high excitement. Her cheeks flamed, 
her eyes glowed. 

But a look of relief came into Lord Leigh's face. He 
said: 

“ Even if all this were true, and it is not, I cannot see 
any great wrong to you in it, or anything that hinders me 
from being a good husband, and you a good and contented 
wife.” 

“It is a great and horrible wrong to marry a woman 
without loving her,” sobbed Violet. 

“ I am not romantic, but I do love you, if you permit me 
to, and do not repulse me, as you have to-day. Suppose 
that your fortune was a factor in my consideration, and 
that, since I am thirty years old, I have admired other 
women? That does not injure you. No doubt you have 
fancied others, and had other considerations in marriage 
than especial love for me.” 

Violet flung herself on a sofa, and burst into an agony of 
weeping. 

“ Violet,” inquired Lord Leigh, earnestly, “ did you see 
any one? Did any one tell you anything else?” 

“What so terrible was left to be told me?” cried Violet. 


28 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS , 


CHAPTER VII. 

“TOO LATE FOR REMEDY." 

For the first time in her life Violet was in Paris. To the 
child-wife, this was a new world. Its enchantments won 
her from herself and her sorrows. She was eager to see all 
that was to be seen. To Lord Leigh Paris was an old story; 
he had been there time and again. The only parts of Paris 
for which he now had toleration were the Bourse, where 
financial speculations were rife, and racing stables, and a 
club or two, where he met his countrymen. 

For a few days he tried to do his duty, taking Violet 
about; but he wearied of the great museums of the Louvre, 
of his bride’s ecstasy over pictures, and statuary, and 
jewelers’ establishments. He felt that he might as well 
stop playing the attentive husband. 

“ What do you care, Violet, for seeing all these flowers?’’ 
he demanded. “If you want marbles, or pictures, why 
don’t you buy the whole lot, and take them home to admire 
at your leisure?’’ 

“ You know I cannot buy these Murillos, and Van- 
dykes, or the f Feast of Cane,’ which are the pride of 
France, nor the Venus of the Louvre — kings could not buy 
those treasures. But if it is a trouble to you to go out with 
me, pray do not go. I can stay at home.’’ 

“ It is all nonsense to talk of staying at home,’’ said Lord 
Leigh. “ You have your carriage and your servants; you 
can go as you like. Take your maid and groom along. I 
admit I have no taste in either high art or horticulture. 
Why should a man be always following his wife, as if he 
feared to lose her? Your Montressor relations will be here 
soon, and you can go out with them.’’ 

Violet availed herself of her new liberty. Timidly at 
first, the young creature went out now with servants only. 

In a few days the strangeness wore off. The novelty of 
her surroundings brightened her, for a large part of each 
day she forgot Lord Leigh and her unhappy marriage. In 
their brief courtship Lord Leigh had not grown into her 
life, nor taken hold on her affections. Her heart had 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


29 


seemed to her so quiet that she believed it was empty. She 
did not know that love lay in it, fallen asleep in a long 
silence, but ready to awake. Her heart was like a fair and 
quiet room, where one enters and says it is tenantless, but 
where, instead, an occupant, hidden under draperies, lies 
in slumber, ready, at a footfall or a word, to rouse and 
come forth. 

Leigh was polite, largely indulgent; all he asked was that 
his young countess should enjoy herself in her own way, 
and let him go his, understanding meanwhile, that neither 
of them should go particularly astray. 

Violet, before her Montressor relatives came, had but 
few casual acquaintances in Paris, and sometimes, when in 
her drives and visits she had seen things, that stirred 
her heart, her young, enthusiastic nature would gush over 
into descriptions of these things, even to her unresponsive 
husband, as they were alone at table, or waiting in the 
gloaming to go to the opera. 

“ How can you be so excited over such things ?" said 
Lord Leigh. “ It takes much more to stir my blood. And 
I don't know as it is good form for you to go wandering 
about the Louvre, talking to artists, and then going to visit 
studios. I have my doubts about the tone of these fellows 
in velvet coats. It is a pity your Aunt Montressor would 
not come over here soon, to go out with you. And Lady 
Clare; you should model yourself on Lady Clare, Violet. 
She is very good style." 

Violet's pride took fire. She had been the petted darl- 
ing of her kindred, and never told to model herself on any 
one. And Lady Clare, too! She had heard Lord Leigh's 
name connected with that of Lady Clare. Her jealousy 
awoke. 

“I don't like Lady Clare's style," she said; “nor do I 
like Lady Clare. We have never been intimate. She is 
five years older than I am. I am aware you like her style. 
I have heard you spoken of as her admirer." 

“ So I was — at one time," said Leigh, coolly. 

“ Why did you not marry her, then? Would she not have 
you?" demanded Violet, in her wrath. 

“Oh, she would have had me, fast enough," said Leigh, 
in his confident tone. “ Lady Clare is looking for a parti , 
and she knows she has neither fortune nor beauty. But 
she has high birth, and a stately, haughty style that I like." 


30 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“Well, then, why give her up?” insisted foolish Violet. 

“ Oh, I heard what a golden apple hung in that garden 
of Hesperides — the Ainslie nursery — and I waited.” 

Violet was deeply stung. She was pursuing a conversa- 
tion which it would have been wisdom never to have begun. 
But she was young and inexperienced, and her heart had 
been cruelly wounded in her marriage. She longed to re- 
turn blow for blow. But what could she say? Unhappily, 
she had a taunt ready. 

“ And while you waited for the Ainslie Hesperides to 
open its gates, you went up into the country and made love 
to the vicar’s daughter.” 

Lord Leigh sprang to his feet. His face grew white. 

“ Lady Leigh, how came you to such intimate knowledge 
of my past?” 

“It is knowledge, then?” said Violet, quietly. “I am 
wiser in your past than you supposed.” 

“ Well, then, having all this wisdom, why marry me, and 
at once regret it?” 

“I did not know it until two hours after I had been so 
unhappy as to go with you to the altar.” 

Leigh controlled himself with an effort. 

“ At least,” lie said, “ the very worst there is to know of 
me is nothing so very bad. My record, whatever you may 
think, is not so bad as that of many men. You have noth- 
ing much to complain of.” 

“ Did you not marry me for my fortune?” 

“Yes, I did. And I claim that it is just as lawful a 
ground for marriage as beauty or blood.” 

“ Marriage should be made solely for love,” said Violet. 

“ I am not romantic. Did you love me, pray?” 

“ I expected to, some time.” 

“ And I expected, and do expect, to make you an amiable 
husband, and give you no cause for complaint. I wish no 
quarrels, and no recriminations. I shall not find fault 
readily, and you need not. My conduct is good enough!” 

“ But did you not have a great debt? And my uncle says 
men only get into debt by being knaves or fools.” 

“ Your uncle is an oracle. Once for all, let me tell you 
that my debt came chiefly by speculating. I speculated 
with Tom Churchill’s property, expecting to make a great 
thing of it. I lost his funds, and as I am no rascal, I re- 
placed them by a huge mortgage on my estates. That 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


31 


mortgage falling due next month, I needed an heiress to 
rehabilitate the lands of Leigh, which, more than all else, I 
love. My ancestors built up our home by marrying birth 
and title. I have saved it by marrying millions. Am I 
worse than they? The Ainslie fortune will build up an 
ancient estate, which your children will inherit. Why 
complain of that?” 

Violet hung her head. She felt ashamed at having 
opened this mercenary subject. In matrimonial battles 
with this hard and selfish heart, she must be worsted. Oh, 
to have grace always to endure in silence, to live only for 
duty. 

“ I was wrong to bring this up, since it is too late for 
remedy,” she said, with a sigh. 

“ So I think,” said Lord Leigh, calmly. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LOST LOYE. 

It was a June afternoon, and a crowd of sight-seers 
surged in and out the famous palace of the Louvre. 
Among them, alone, went a sweet, youthful figure, followed 
by curious and admiring glances as she passed along, solely 
intent on the art treasures about her. 

Finally she came to the place she liked the best, the 
temple-like rotunda, lit from above, and lined with deep 
crimson, where alone in all her matchless beauty stands the 
“conquering Venus” of the Louvre. 

Violet sat on the sofa placed at a little distance in front 
of the figure, and her eyes sought the triumphant face, the 
form so strong, so gracious, so dignified, yet all tenderness 
and enchantment. 

The palace of the Louvre, with its treasure-filled corri- 
dors and galleries, died away from her consciousness. 

She went back to the dawn of her girlhood — to her Lin- 
colnshire home, when at fifteen she lived there with her 
stern old grandmother, her elderly romance-repressing gov- 
erness, and her maid. How sedulously all poetry, romance, 
novels, had been shut out of her young life — she had been 
reared among all those elderly people as a young vestal. 

And yet, there romance and new-blown passion, the dawn 


32 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


of heart-life, had come to her; love had risen as a new day 
that dawns rosily in the east, and love had paled and per- 
ished, as when thick mists enwrap and vail that new-born 
day. 

Never, since the first period of that love and loss, had 
Violet recalled so clearly those hours in Lincolnshire, as 
this day, sitting alone before the Venus of the Louvre. 

Marriage with its trembling hopes, its bitter, crushing 
disappointments, had sharpened all her perceptions and 
intensified all her emotions. That terrible, yet often 
blessed capacity for loving, which Lady Burton said was 
hers, was awake now in full force, and, alas, had in her 
husband no object. 

No wretch drifting shipwrecked on desolate seas, no 
trembler on the limit of a precipice, no victim of fell dis- 
ease, quivering on the verge of death, was that hour in 
more instant and terrible peril than Violet, Countess of 
Leigh, sitting in the palace of the Louvre, and dutifully 
watched, from a distance, by a maid and a groom. Her 
peril was from her own heart. 

She saw that dark, bird-haunted, fern-carpeted wood, 
stretching around the grange. Wandering there alone one 
laughing summer day, herself fair as a young Hebe, she had 
come upon a beautiful Antinous sleeping in the wood. She 
had almost, trodden on him as he lay asleep, his hands un- 
der his comely head, his curls damp with the dews of slum- 
ber, his throat stirred by each deep, healthy inspiration, as 
he lay in a bed of aromatic fern. She had stopped, held 
her breath, and gazed as one spell-bound by the beauty of a 
young god. Awe at first of a strange presence. Then, 
grown more familiar, curiosity. What color were his eyes? 
What would be the tones of his voice? She was young, and 
she had scarcely seen young creatures of her own rank, 
near her age, certainly almost none of what her grand- 
mother deemed a dangerous sex. And she had looked and 
wondered, until the exuberant child-spirit mastered her; for 
childhood had hardly as yet yielded its place to girlhood in 
her soul, and, intent on mischief, leaning forward, with a 
long spray of grass, softly pulled from among the fern, she 
had touched the sleeper’s lips. Then his eyes had opened, 
eyes like heaven’s own blue. 

The acquaintance, began in mischief and merriment, 
passed quickly into love. Like two happy children, Violet 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


33 


and the young Oxonian wandered in the woods, and by the 
summer streams, and for six weeks were entirely happy in 
each other's society. 

Kate Gray, Violet's maid, had a young woman's sym- 
pathy for a pair of beautiful young lovers, and she felt 
great pity for the repressed and lonely life of her dear little 
mistress. 

Kate was present at all the meetings, a convenient third, 
deaf to all soft words of love, and blind to each stolen 
caress. Kate carried the numerous letters that were a ne- 
cessity, even though the lovers met twice each day. 

But the hour came when the young student must go back 
to his studies. With tears and lingering embraces the 
youthful pak parted, promising daily letters and undying 
faithfulness. They parted, and utter silence fell between 
them. 

Since that hour Violet had neither seen nor heard of her 
handsome adorer. He had been false; she said that he had 
seen in her only the simple little Lincolnshire girl, and had 
amused himself, and then forgotten her. 

As the young and lonely bride recalled all these bitter- * 
sweet experiences, her brown eyes fell from the marble 
Venus, and were fastened dreamily on the floor. 

Presently she gave that start which so often comes to the 
object of fixed attention. 

She sprang up, feeling that she had been for hours, yes, 
for ages, on that sofa in the little rotunda. 

Turning, she lifted her gaze, and her eyes met once again 
those same dark-blue, ardent eyes which had met hers in 
the Lincolnshire woods. The lover of her girlhood was be- 
fore her once more. 

One instant a deadly pallor spread over her face, her par- 
asol fell from her hand, and she caught at the back of the 
sofa for support. Then, as with an exclamation, the young 
man sprang forward and stooped for the ivory and silken 
toy which she had dropped; the blood surged over her 
throat and face, and she felt as if he had not only been 
watching her, but had read her thoughts — read all those 
tender reminiscences of him — the traitor. 

Where was her pride? Could she show that she had re- 
membered, while he had forgotten? Never! never! 

He held out the parasol, and also his right hand to clasp 
hers. He cried: 


34 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


“ Violet !” 

She took the parasol, but ignored the other extended 
hand. 

“ Thanks,” she said, as to a stranger. 

Then suddenly a group of bustling sight-seers crowded 
into the rotunda with exclamations and questions, and Vio- 
let and her love of other days fell apart. 

With trembling, impetuous steps, which she longed to 
render firm and dignified, Violet hastened along the gallery 
to her waiting servants, and then to her carriage. 

Surely this was the irony of fate — that she should meet 
him again just as she had learned that love was living for 
him yet — that she should meet him when love would be a 
crime, and therefore an impossibility. 

“ But it is better so,” said Violet to herself. “ If he had 
found me three months ago, he, too, might have courted 
me for my money, and won me by deceit; and to be de- 
ceived by him would surely be the most bitter thing on 
earth.” 

Receiving no orders, the coachman drove slowly along 
the Bois de Bologne, but all during the drive, and at the 
opera that evening Violet was striving to find a grave wide 
and deep enough in her heart to bury her lost love. 

The next afternoon the Montressor barouche was drawn 
up at the Hotel Splendide, waiting for the Countess of 
Leigh to join her Aunt Montressor and Lady Clare. Un- 
der the arcade, a few paces from the carriage, stood a hand- 
some young man, looking idly about. Lord Leigh, turning 
from the carriage-steps, saw him, and w r ent to him with ex- 
tended hand. 

“ Well met, Keith. Glad to see you again.” 

Keith was just returning this greeting when Violet came 
down the hotel steps, preceded by a footman carrying her 
parasol and wrap, and followed by her maid, holding her 
mistress’ little gold-mounted caba. Violet took her place 
beside the Countess Montressor, her aunt, and engaged by 
her greetings, saw neither Lord Keith nor her husband. 

“ There, is Miss Violet Ainslie,” cried Lord Keith; “ what 
a surprise to find her in Paris. I wonder where she is stay- 
ing?” 

“Acquainted?” 

“ Long ago. She was then the most captivating child, 
as now she has bloomed into the loveliest of women.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


35 


“ I think I can accommodate you with her address,” said 
Lord Leigh, “ Suite 47, this hotel.” 

“ Oh, thanks. Staying with the Montressors? I will 
call.” 

Lord Leigh laughed, but gave no explanation. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ LEAVE ME! I HATE YOU!” 

The next morning, as early as calls would oe in order. 
Lord Kenneth Keith with eager steps went up the marble 
stairs of the Hotel Splendide, and hurried to the reception- 
room of suite 47. The door was opened by Kate Gray her- 
self. Kate, the very Kate who had been his friend in need 
in that six weeks, the elysium of his life! Lord Keith was 
so delighted that he frankly held out his hand. 

“ Why, Kate, my good girl, it seems natural to see you; 
and you are still with your little mistress?” 

“Oh, I could never leave Miss Violet,” said Kate, who 
fell, by habit, into the name used for ten years, since her 
“ Miss Violet” was a mere child. 

“ That's right; there is nothing like faithfulness,” said 
Lord Keith. “I hope your mistress is at home? I came 
to call on her.” 

“I will speak to her,” said Kate, and Lord Keith was 
left alone. 

His heart was in a tumult of expectation and apprehen- 
sion. When he had seen Violet at the Louvre, he wonder- 
ed if she was the Violet Ainslie whose image had for nearly 
four years been cherished in his heart. Their eyes met. It 
was surely she; but, oh, more altered in manner than in 
face! The timid, tender, changeful Violet had grown cold, 
careless, had pretended to have forgotten him. Then when 
he had seen her enter the carriage, the previous day, in 
spite of the sumptuous dress, so different from the simple 
garb of his little love, he had felt that she was the same 
Violet still. There was something pathetic in the brown 
eyes, in the droop of the corners of the lovely mouth, a 
shrinking childish grace in the little figure, so ostentatiously 
surrounded by riches and servants. All his early tender- 
ness rushed back upon his soul, he was resolved to see her. 


36 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


to challenge this long silence. Pride should not divide him 
from the love of his heart, without at least one honest strug- 
gle. He had come, therefore, to discover why the Violet so 
tenderly his in the past, was not his Violet still? 

When Kate went to summon her lady, Lord Keith sat 
down in the embrasure of a window, and recalled, as he 
had done hundreds of times, in hundreds of places, the image 
of his girl-love. Once more he saw her, with her innocent 
smile, light step, eager eyes, coming through the shadowy 
woods to meet him, while Kate, with work or book, came 
behind, apparently oblivious of the fact that her little lady 
expected to greet a friend. How the small, soft hand had 
flutterd in his, like a bird caught in a net, how the shy 
blushes had come and gone on the dimpled cheek, how hon- 
est in their tenderness had been the wide brown eyes. 

A soft stir of drapery woke him from his dream. It was 
a portiere falling into place, and against the deep maroon 
velvet stood Violet— Violet, no dream, but flesh and blood, 
Violet so like the love of the past! 

All the love of those vanished years rolled back on his 
heart and flashed into his eyes as he saw her. He could 
not, he would not, be robbed of her. She was no longer a 
child, wax in the hands of relatives and guardians, but wo- 
man grown, and by her woman’s heart she should be guided. 
What answer would that heart make to him, her lover? 

He sprang toward her; such a ceremonious greeting as he 
had contemplated since their cold meeting in the Louvre 
was forgotten. He held out both his arms, that would so 
gladly infold her, and cried: 

“ Oh, Violet. Oh, my darling, do I see you at last?” 

But, with a low cry, Violet evaded him. There was a 
great arm-chair near her, and instinctively she placed her- 
self behind it, as a sheltering barrier. She turned on him 
eyes of intense reproach, and said, in a voice of agony: 

“How dare you? how dare you?” 

“ I dare, because I love,” said Kenneth Keith, boldly, 
coming as near her as he could, and so standing with the 
great chair, between them, on which the plush-cushioned 
back of which Violet folded her arms for support, as she 
trembled so she could scarcely stand. 

“You love!” she said, with anger and scorn. “ This is 
a strange time to tell me you love — after all these years!” 

“They are years, indeed, and long years,” said fceith, in 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


37 


a broken voice; “ but in them all I have loved you still. 
Love for another has never entered my soul. What has 
changed you? Was it true, then, that your love for me 
passed as a cloud in a summer sky? Was it true that you 
were too young for permanent love, and forgot it in a day?” 

“You ask me such questions?” said Violet, panting. “You, 
who went away and forgot me? You, who promised to 
write to me, and never wrote one word, while I waited and 
believed in you until I learned, too late, that my grand- 
mother’s warnings were true, and that all men are deceivers? 
You thought I was only a little lonely orphan, to be flirted 
with for a vacation time, and then forgotten.” 

“Never, never!” cried Keith. “I loved you with all my 
soul; I do still. And I know you loved .me, and your eyes, 
although you are angry now, show that you have not for- 
gotten, and you love me yet.” 

“ No, no; I do not. It is false; I will not.” 

“But you must. Love will not be denied in your heart; 
love is imperial, and I am true. What do you mean by 
saying I never wrote you? I wrote you again and again — 
daily.” 

“No, you did not. Kate went to the address we had ar- 
ranged, and there was never one letter there. You said you 
loved me, and you did not. That is my fate — always to be 
made a toy, and deceived by pretenses of love. Leave me. 
I hate you.” 

“Hate me? and for what, Violet?” 

“ For deceiving me. You deceived me by your false 
name. Did you not call yourself Kenneth Howard, and 
'you were Kenneth Keith? Did you not deceive me by say- 
ing you loved me, when you did not, and by promising to 
write and always be true, when you did not, and now, by 
saying you wrote, when you never wrote at all? You have 
no right to speak to me in this way. It is wicked.” 

“ It is not wicked to tell the truth,” said Keith, stoutly. 
“My name is Kenneth Howard, Lord Keith. Until I was 
of age, all my college friends called me Howard oftener 
than Keith. It was the name I preferred. I did love you; 
I do love you. And I did write. I wrote again and again. 
Then, I had a letter from your grandmother, forbidding me 
to write any more. She said it was all childish folly, al- 
ready forgotten by you; that you declined any further ac- 
quaintance.” 


38 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“I did not,” returned Violet, vehemently. “I never 
spoke to my grandmother of you, nor she of you to me. I 
never said that.” 

“It is clear, then, to me,” said Keith, “that your grand- 
mother had found out our acquaintance, and seized our 
letters. She did not wish you to have a lover, perhaps.” 

“ She wished me never to marry, so that my hateful 
money could go back to the, Ainslie family,” said Violet, 
with a passionate burst of tears. “ Oh, cruel woman!” 

“ It was cruel! She has given us almost four sad years. 
But they are gone. I find you again. Oh, Violet, now 
you know that I have been true; that I loved you then, and 
now will you not cast out your suspicions, and take back 
that bitter word hate , and love me as once you did?” 

“Stop! stop! How dare you say such words to me. Oh, 
Kenneth, have you only insult for me? How can you come 
to me to talk of love, now it is too late, now lam married!” 

“Married, Violet! my Violet!” cried Keith, wildly. 

“Yes! yes!” sobbed Violet. “Married. Did you not 
know?” ^ 

“Heaven help me, I did not know! I have had no Eng- 
lish news. I am just from the East. Married! Oh, Vio- 
let, say it is not so! Do not doom me to despair!” 

“ I have been married over two weeks,” moaned Violet. 

“And to whom?” gasped Keith. 

“To Lord Norman Leigh.” 

Kenneth Keith gave a deep groan. Then he flamed into 
fury. He exclaimed, passionately: 

“ Then you were the false one; you were the one who for- 
got; you betrayed the love you promised me. Oh, fickle, 
false, and shallow heart! Why have I ventured all my love 
on you? And you love another!” 

“ I do- not love him. I never can love him,” cried Vio- 
let, “ but I can and must be true to him and myself. Go, 
Kenneth; go away now, and forget me, that is all I ask of 
you. Go!” 

And, with a white, quivering face, Violet turned, darted 
under the portiere, ancl left Lord Kenneth Keith alone in 
his misery. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


39 


CHAPTER X. 

“OH, MADLY HAD SHE SOWED, BITTERLY TO REAP.” 

“ What, not going to the opera?” cried Lord Leigh, en- 
tering the darkened room where Violet had been lying since 
the hour when she fled from the presence of Kenneth Keith. 
“ Kate says you are ill of a headache. What a horrid bore.” 

He had come back to dinner, Violet, as usual, having 
been left to herself for the day. 

“Do you often have those headaches? It will be a great 
plague. I counted on your going to the Italian opera to- 
night. I promised Lady Clare Montressor we would meet 
her there.” 

“I do not expect to hinder your going; and I cannot 
help having the headache,” said Violet, gloomily. 

“ Wh)r, yes, you can. Why do you give way to it? If 
you lie all day in this dark, amber-scented room, no wonder 
you have headache. You should go out the first minute 
you feel it; go ride, visit, shake it off. Been alone here all 
day? Xo callers?” 

“Yes; Lord Kenneth Keith called.” 

“Did he, though? Wasn't he surprised to find you mar- 
ried? Zounds, I wish I’d been here to see it.” 

“ Why should he be surprised?” asked Violet. 

“ He saw you getting into the carriage yesterday, and 
spoke of you as Miss Ainslie; wished he had your address, 
,and I promptly accommodated him, and never told him 
you were Lady Leigh,” and Lord Leigh gave his own silent 
laugh over his “good joke.” 

“ Then it was to you I was indebted for his call,” said 
Violet, fire in her heart as she thought of the agony of that ( 
morning scene. 

“ Oh, he would have called any way. Do you know he is 
a great admirer of yours? Said he knew you when you 
were a charming little girl, or something like that.” 

“ But how did you know him?” asked Violet. 

“We were in Oxford together. He was several years 
younger, and not exactly in our set. He was of the heavy 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


40 

readers — always pegging at his books. We fellows gave 
them the title of ‘L.L. without the IV” 

“What did that mean?” 

“ Literary Lord, to be sure. Poetic sort of a fellow, 
Keith. Fond of incognito — didn’t like to be called by his 
title; loved to wander off into the country for vacations. 
We suspected a love affair for him, four years ago this next 
fall, just after I left there; but Tom Churchill told me 
Keith went away for six or seven weeks somewhere in Lin- 
colnshire, or some other place, and when he came back he 
was in a state of sublime joy — more poetic than ever — had a 
cabinet picture which he kept in a locked case, and a minia- 
ture which no one saw, but which he was detected in taking 
from his breast-pocket and looking at adoringly, in solitary 
moments. All that sort of nonsense, you know. Keith is 
just the man to nourish a grand passion. Then he began 
to -be melancholy, pale, thin — went off his feed,” explained 
Leigh, as if the absent Keith were a horse; “seemed all 
broken up, and the story was, he was jilted. Though what 
girl in her wits would jilt Keith, I don’t know — no end of 
money, and an old title. What do girls want?” 

Thus Violet Leigh heard from her husband the history of 
her first love. 

The narrator fell into silence. 

“ And then?” said Violet, breathlessly. 

“Then? You are interested. But, yes — you, too, are a 
bit romantic; you’ll outgrow it. Then Keith seemed not to 
find his life any good to him; but he pegged away and 
finished his examinations, and took honors, and went off 
through Europe, to Egypt, India, and now he is coming 
back, cured, of course. All men get cured of love, first or 
last, as they do of measles. So you are not coming to din- 
ner? If I’d known I’d have staid at the club. It’s poor 
amusement eating alone. I say, Violet, don’t have head- 
ache again; but if you do, let me know in time, and I’ll 
not come home to dinner. Good-night; hope I’ll see you 
well in the morning. Have you all you want?” 

“ Yes; good-night,” sighed Violet. 

She had by no means what she wanted. The sad and 
lonely little heart wanted comfort, sympathy, tenderness, 
a love to surround it as an atmosphere; but what she 
needed and craved she could never have. It was idle 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


41 


to think of it. The desire would not even he compre- 
hended. 

When Lord Leigh left her, Violet had new food for 
thought. Not merely her own woes absorbed her. She 
had been given a glimpse of Kenneth's grief when he 
thought she had forgotten him. 

Oh, cruel grandmother, who had so ruthlessly crushed 
two young hearts. And why had not she been more trust- 
ful? Why had she believed her true love fickle? Why had 
not she herself been true and waited — waited years longer, 
if need be, until they two met again, as meet they must. 
The world is not so wide as to divide two loving hearts 
forever. 

How could she have assigned baseness to that clear-eyed, 
honest lover? Oh, madly had she sowed, and bitterly was 
she reaping for herself and for him. 

If her heart was broken, then his was broken, too. 

Then she began to think what sweetness there would 
have been in life if she had again met Kenneth, when 
she was happy and unfettered, when explanations could be 
fully given and received, and love could answer love. 

But she woke with a start from these fancies, remember- 
ing that it was now her part to forget Keith entirely and 
forever, unless these two could securely pass into the most 
quiet friendship. 

Could they do that? 

Then her mind reverted to Lord Leigh. If cold, he was 
not suspicious. His entire lack of feeling or suspicion, his 
careless trust in sending Keith to see her, called Violet to 
complete faithfulness to him in thought, as well as in deed. 
Trust, whether rooted in carelessness, or in lovingness, 
should not be betrayed. 

And what made Leigh so careless? Was it that he had 
no idea at all of love, or merely that in his marriage he had 
no love? Did she touch him least of all women? Had he 
ever thought he loved Clare Montressor, and had he been 
wiled from Clare by that lovely face, that had neither rank 
nor fortune for its dower, and whom, as she had heard that 
fatal voice say, to love once was to love forever? Would 
Leigh ever meet Miss Ambrose, and would they also sorrow 
and part, as she and Kenneth had? 

At least, Lord Leigh was kind, polite, indulgent, 
seemed to wish her to enjoy herself. Enjoy! What idle 


42 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


talk. She never could be happy or enjoy anything ever 
again. 

Next morning Leigh sent to inquire if Lady Leigh was 
better and intended to appear at breakfast. 

Violet returned word that she would breakfast with 
him. 

Norman Leigh, as the graceful, slender figure in white 
pique and cherry ribbons >entered the sunny little break- 
fast-room, realized that his wife was very sweet and attrac- 
tive. A silent, shy, flying creature she had been, even in 
the blaze of the ball-rooms or the glitter of opera-houses. 
But now, as he watched the play of varying emotions on 
that strangely mobile face, the sun and shadow drifting 
over the brown, changeful eyes, he felt the charm of her 
winsomeness. 

This was, no doubt, a very attractive being whom he 
shortly would take to the home of his ancestors. He kissed 
her hand, and asked after her health with more interest 
than he had ever before shown. 

“ You need a little excursion to set you up," he said. “ If 
you like I will take you to Chantilly, and we will row about 
the Courmelle Lakes. I don't mind trips where I can do 
anything, and I believe Fd like to pull an oar." 

“ Thanks," said Violet, eargerly. 

She longed to get away from Paris, even for a day — to fly 
the air breathed by Keith. Suppose he should come again 
and load her with reproaches for her unfaithfulness and 
ready suspicion? 

They went to Chantilly, and Leigh got his boat and 
pulled his oar. Looking up in the midst of this delight- 
some exercise, he caught Violet's eyes bent on him, with a 
singular expression — wistful, pained, reproachful, pitiful, 
like a wronged child. 

“ I say, Violet," he exclaimed, “ I don't think you had a 
very lively bringing up, and it makes you moody. You 
must go about more. Wasn't it dused dull down there in 
Lincolnshire?" 

“ I liked it; I knew nothing else," said Violet. 1 

“ And what did your grim old grandmother talk about?" 

“Mostly warning me never to marry, as people would 
only follow me and marry me for my money, not myself." 

“They might have said that if you were an ogress. I 
say it was very stupid talk, fit to make you suspicious." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


43 


<e It was all their talk,” cried Violet, defiantly. “ Uncle 
Henry was always telling of the dangers of an heiress, and 
aunt always giving me my way, openly, because of my 
money. I grew to fear and hate it. I felt like a fine-plumed 
bird, sure to be shot for its feathers. Wretched little chippy 
birds are far better off, I think. I hate money.” 

“ Tut !” said Leigh. “ Come down to real facts, and money 
is the great solid good, after all. Now you are married, 
you might as well drop all that nonsense and take things 
easy, and we’ll get on very well. Seems to me you are very 
much of a child. You lack experience.” 

_ He recognized something of her sweet, subtle fascina- 
tion, but he felt that though grown to woman’s height, she 
was only a child, sweet, but timid, reserved, passionless as 
lilies are. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“OUR LIVES HAVE BEEH RUINED BY A LIE.” 

After a few days Violet lost her terror lest Keith should 
come to her again and reproach her, echoing the ceaseless 
reproaches of her own heart. And, as she neither saw nor 
heard anything of him, she began to wonder where he was, 
and if he was very miserable. She thought she would like 
to ask his pardon, to console him, to touch his hand in kind- 
ness, and say they would part as friends. 

There is a beautiful painting, representing a little dain- 
tily dressed child standing gazing at a mummy case, where- 
in a dead Pharoah had slept for two thousand years. A 
similar bringing together of the living and the dead, of the 
warm life of the nineteenth century, and that which has 
been death and silence for ages, might have been seen on a 
June morning in Pere la Chaise cemetery 0 

Violet Leigh was standing beside the great, dark tomb of 
Abelard and Heloise. Never had Violet looked more girl- 
ish, more guileless, more sweet, than in that shadow of the 
tomb of the long dead lovers. 

Her little hand, in its pale kid glove, rested on the dark 
stone, her delicate lace hat, with its clustered tea-roses, was 
bowed near those grim images of death. Not a bird was 


44 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


singing nor a step was heard in the great cemetery, and in 
the sudden hush Violet seemed the only living thing. 

ISTo one else was in sight; the groom and maid had lin- 
gered in a broader sunlight. 

Violet sighed. As an echo of her sigh a voice fell on her 
ear: 

“ Violet — Lady Leigh !” 

It was Kenneth Keith. 

She turned to him, and her eyes were full of tears. 

“ I am afraid I startle you — that I disturb you,” he said. 

“No,” replied Violet, simply. “I wanted to see you. 
Let us sit down on that bench. I was thinking that all 
one's troubles seem short, when they are looked back on, 
and that people should have courage to endure anything, 
when they consider that it will not last forever. I have 
made you unhappy by not trusting you, by thinking that 
you had forgotten me, and were untrue to all you had said. 
If I had only waited on and on, in trust, until we met, then 
we — you — might have been happy. But, you see, I had 
heard so much of how false and forgetful people were, I 
thought you were, too — and that explains me.” 

This ingenuous, child-like, if stumbling confession, went 
straight to Lord Keith's heart, and aroused all his chival- 
rous tenderness for this sweet young creature. 

“It was not your fault,” he said. “We have both been 
victims of very unhappy circumstances. If you will hear 
me, I would like to tell you my share of our trouble in a 
few words.” 

Violet dropped her eyes; she did not speak, but her lis- 
tening attitude consented. 

“When I met you in Lincolnshire and loved you, I did 
not know that you were the greatest heiress of England. I 
only knew that you embodied my ideal — were all the hope, 
joy, poetry of my life, in one fair form. When I returned 
to Oxford I wrote, as we had agreed, again and again. 
But, at the same time, I began to feel that all this manner 
of concealment of our love and correspondence was wrong. 
My chief wish was to marry you as soon as you were of age 
to marry, and I saw that it was only honorable and right to 
make my intentions known. Meanwhile I had no word 
from yon, and I became miserably unhappy. My tutor was 
my cousin, a young curate, who now has the living at Keith 
Castle. He was always my best friend, and seeing that I 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


45 


was unhappy he asked my confidence, and I told him my 
story. He at once recognized you as the heiress of the 
Ainslies, and he charged me to have done with all subter- 
fuge, and write you boldly, to your grandmother's care, and 
be prepared to explain to her my hopes and intentions. I 
did so, and speedily received my letter to you, returned, 
with one from your grandmother, declaring you already 
ashamed of our folly, and amusing yourself * with playing 
love with some other lad.' She also declared that ‘ with 
your full consent' arrangements for your future life had 
already been made by your family. 

“ I wrote her a passionate letter, telling my love and my 
despair, and begging leave to come and plead my cause 
with you both, as I believed that you really loved me. She 
wrote back, accusing me of fortune-hunting and deceitful- 
ness, and forbidding me to come to her home or again ad- 
dress any one under her ioof; conveyed me your farewells, 
saying that you f were sorry I cared for you, as you were 
only making believe.' I tried to bury my unhappiness in 
books, in hard study, then in travel. My mother thought 
my melancholy came from too hard work. I told no one 
but my cousin of my trouble, and, taking refuge in my 
pride, I fell into silence and absence as a last means of for- 
getting. But I have never forgotten you, Violet. I came 
back from the East resolved to find you, and try again to 
win your love. And I see you — when it is forever too 
late." 

Violet was sobbing bitterly. 

Keith's voice was broken with emotion. 

“ Oh, cruel, wicked woman, how could she be so false to 
us both?" cried Violet. “ I thought she loved me, and I 
loved her; but now I see that just as she never loved my 
mother, so she never loved me, and she only cared for 
my property to keep it in the Ainslie family." 

“ And you did not get my letters, nor send such mes- 
sages?" demanded Keith. 

“No, no; how could I? I loved you." 

“ Our lives have been ruined by a lie," cried Keith. 

“I waited and waited to hear from you," said Violet. 
“I was so wretched I could scarcely live. Then I was 
roused up by that sudden death of my grandmother. 
She was found dead in her bed. Hers was the only home 
and care that I remembered. After that excitement, I 


46 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS, 


was taken to my uncle’s. I could hardly tell, then, which 
part of my sorrow was for loss of my grandmother, for 
she had always been very kind, only in that one thing, 
which I did not know, and which part was misery be- 
cause you had forsaken me. I know it was a very dark, 
gloomy year, and people said I mourned my grandmother 
very deeply. By and by I began to brighten. I had so 
many pleasant things and kind friends, and I determined 
never to think of you more. I brought all my pride up 
to disdain your desertion. I made up my mind never to 
marry, for since you were false, all men must be false.” 

“Oh, if you had only adhered to that resolve till you saw 
me, all would have gone well!” groaned Kenneth Keith. 

“They urged me so,” said Violet, humbly. “Uncle 
Henry complained of the care and responsibility of my for- 
tune, and Aunt Ainslie was always worrying about the care 
of guarding me, and about fortune-hunters, and hinting 
that I should make a proper marriage for the sake of the 
girls, and that I would be in their way when they came out. 
Sfinally they worried me into accepting Lord Leigh, after 
he had offered himself four or five times.” 

This recalled the honest-hearted Keith to a realization of 
their mutual relations. He said, with a start: 

“ Violet, it is done. Our lives have been settled for us; 
not as we would have them, but as we must bear them. I 
hope Lord Leigh will make you as happy as you deserve.” 

“ I do not deserve anything but misery, since I was so 
hasty in distrust, and allowed myself to be talked into mar- 
riage. I did not know until I married how~wild and wicked 
that was. But I shall not be happy. Lord Leigh does not 
love me. I found, only two hours after my marriage, that 
he only married me for my fortune, and loved some one 
else.” 

Lord Keith started. But the utter innocence and sim- 
plicity of Violet’s avowals roused all his manhood. The 
fate of a woman whom he passionately loved was at stake. 
He must help her. 

“Violet,” he said, gently, “you may be misjudging 
Leigh as you misjudged me. You have, perhaps, been 
trained to be suspicious. Do not make up your mind to be 
unhappy. No man could see you daily and not love you. 
Leigh must love you. Try, try and be happy, my dear. I 
speak as a friend.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


47 


“And will you be my friend?” said Violet, earnestly, 
lifting her guileless brown eyes, drowned in tears, to his 
face. “ I should like to feel you do not hate and despise 
me. ” 

“Oh, Violet, how could I hate and despise you?” 

“ Easily. I hate and despise myself. I do not expect to 
be happy; but I know it is always open to me to be good 
and do good, and I mean to live for that.” 

“Yes, yes; and then you will grow into content and 
happiness.” 

“ And if you think you could be my friend. If that 
would make you more happy. I have read of great friends, 
and my grandmother had a very dear friend — old Count 
Solis, a refugee. I used to be so happy talking with you! 
You remember, we liked the same things — books, flowers, 
pictures, music, all beautiful things; and. Lord Leigh does 
not care in the least for any of them. You shall be my 
friend, as Count Solis was my grandmother's, and I'll try to 
be a little happy with that.” 

Poor Violet! She did not realize the vast difference be- 
tween her grandmother's stern temperament and dignified 
age and her own ardent, inexperienced youth; between 
Count Solis' whitened locks and Kenneth Keith's head, 
ringed with sunny curls. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“THE EVIL GENIUS OF TOUR LIFE.” 

The various museums of Paris, with their collections of 
treasures, were very attractive to the beauty-loving Violet, 
who had traveled so little. Left to herself for the greater 
part of her days, she went from one point of interest to an- 
other, trying to forget her sorrows by occupying her mind. 
She was one day standing before some exquisite examples of 
oriental embroidery, when a lady, drawing near to look at 
the same specimens, said, in a friendly tone: 

“ Very beautiful are they not?” 

“Lovely!” cried Violet; “how charming it must be to 
do such work one's self. Whenever I buy any, I always 
think how much more I should enjoy it, if I made it,” 

“You are fond of doing fancy work?” 


48 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“Very; but I know how to do but little.” 

“ Why do you not learn this kind, if you like it?” 

“ I thought it was only done by those wonderful people 
in the far East. Yes, I should like it. I have a deal of 
time on my hands, and I do not enjoy doing nothing. I 
like to be employed. I cannot sit hours at the piano, mak- 
ing music for myself alone; and I have but little genius for 
painting or drawing.” 

“ If you wish to learn this oriental work, and will accept 
instruction, I shall be glad to teach you. I am now in 
Paris, making my living by giving lessons. I have been a 
governess for some years in England. Shall I send you my 
recommendations? If you wish lessons, it would really be 
a favor to me to learn of me. I suppose it seems odd to a 
person in your circumstances, that any one should be anx- 
ious to earn a few pounds!” * 

“Oh, I should like to learn, indeed I should!” cried Vio- 
let, her benevolent nature aroused by this half appeal from 
a woman but a few years older than herself, and exceed- 
ingly lady-like in speech and appearance. 

“ Would you come to my hotel, and teach me?” 

“ With pleasure.” 

“ There is my card. Come to-morrow about eleven o'clock. 
Will you bring all the material? I should not know what 
to get. How many lessons will I need? I shall not be here 
more than a fortnight longer.” 

“ Six or eight will be enough for a person of taste. You 
will learn readily. Which of the styles do you prefer?” 

After a little more chat they parted, Violet already feel- 
ing an interest in the stranger. 

The next day Lord Leigh had gone out immediately after 
their ten o'clock breakfast, and Violet did not expect to see 
him again until evening. 

Shortly after eleven she was seated in her boudoir, with 
her new acqaintance, busily at work over an embroidery 
frame, when Lord Leigh hastily entered. He stopped ab- 
ruptly, and his face darkened as his eyes fell on the em- 
broidery teacher, who after one swift look kept her glance 
fixed on her patterns. 

“ Lady Leigh, I wish to speak to you. I have come for 
you.” He swept back the portiere with his arm for Violet 
to pass into the adjoining' bedroom. Then he closed the 
door, and said, hurriedly: “I wish you to get ready quickly 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


49 


to go to Sevres, to stay until to-morrow evening. You will 
wish to make some purchases there. Lady Clare and her 
friend will accompany us. Make haste, please.” 

He had his eyes fixed scrutinizingly on her. 

“Very well; I will go and speak to this lady, who is 
teaching me a new embroidery.” 

“ Pshaw! No; send Kate. Kate, go tell that person 
that your lady is engaged; she is going from Paris on a trip. 
Now, Violet, make ready. Where are your things? Wear 
that navy-blue silk, and the hat with the pink ostrich tips, 
as you did yesterday. I like that combination. It gives 
you style. Why do you not look up your things?” 

“ Kate will do that. I don’t know anything about it. I 
will be ready by the time you have made your own prepara- 
tions,” said Violet, quietly. 

“ Here, Kate,” cried Lord Leigh to the returning maid. 
“ Get your lady ready as speedily as you can, and then do 
you put up what things she needs, and come out to Sevres 
with Thomas this evening.” 

After this order Lord Leigh withdrew, but instead of go- 
ing to his dressing-room, he paced up and down before his 
wife’s door, as one on guard. 

Violet was a little irritated by such a summary dismissal of 
her instructress and disposition of her time. She was ac- 
customed to be consulted with deference. If her friends 
had had views and plans different from her own, they had 
thwarted her in secret, as her grandmother had done, and 
only long after she had become aware of it. Usually Vio- 
let was the little autocrat of the household. And now this 
man, who had only law and not love to support his claim, 
ordered her about as if he were her master. Still the mat- 
ter was a trifle, and she told herself that she must learn to 
endure adverse trifles pleasantly. 

She did not keep Lord Leigh waiting long, and he gave 
her his arm to go down stairs, and glanced about as if 
warning off intruders, as the groom threw open the door of 
the barouche. 

But once in the carriage, his gathering wrath broke forth. 
His tone was low, but concentrated indignation 

“ Violet, where did you pick up that person who was in 
your boudoir?” 

“ It is a lady named Miss Hope. She is an English gov-* 


50 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


erness; but just now she gives lessons in fancy work, and I 
engaged her to teach me embroidery.” 

“ And where did you pick her up?” 

“ I met her at the museum yesterday.” 

“ I declare, if you are a married woman, you need a chap- 
eron as much as if you were a chit of fifteen, just out of 
your school-room.” 

“.Why do you speak so to me?” cried Violet, in anger. 

“ Because you deserve it. The idea of Countess Leigh 
making an intimate of any stranger that she picks up in the 
museum.” 

“ I do not make an intimate,” said Violet, hotly. 

Then she stopped and blushed, for she realized that in 
some way Miss Hope had led her on to talk in a free and 
friendly strain, both at the museum and that morning in 
the boudoir. She certainly had made the acquaintance 
very easily. 

And she had never thought of the suggested recommen- 
dations. No doubt she had been childishly rash. 

She might have repented had Lord Leigh been wise 
enough to leave her to her own reflections. But he went 
on: 

“ Adventurer is written on the woman’s face. People of 
that stamp are full of lies and gossip, and go about to de- 
ceive, and make trouble, and fasten themselves like vam- 
pires on rich young women, such as you.” 

“ What?” cried Violet. “Even a teacher of embroidery 
follows me for my fortune?” 

“ Certainly; it is the first thing one thinks of about you. 
You will be the prey of the public if you are so approach- 
able. I wish you not to make acquaintances except those 
that I introduce to you.” 

“You mean to be a tyrant, then?” 

“ Has not that always been the rule with you? Hid your 
aunt allow you to take up with strangers? Certainly not. 
And I am quite as much interested in your welfare. I do 
not like the woman’s looks. I forbid you to have anything 
more to do with her.” 

“ I must finish my lessons,” said Violet. 

“Of soml other teacher; not of her. Kemember that 
young, and inexperienced, and evidently careless, as you 
are, if you fall in with people in this way, you will come 
upon some evil genius of your life who will ruin you. Here 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


51 


we are at the Montressors. I will go in after Lady Clare 
and her friend; let us drop this matter. And remember. 
Lady Leigh, see that woman no more.” 

He ran up the steps of the hotel where the Montressors 
were, and left Violet alone in the carriage. 

She was deeply hurt and offended. Authority had never 
before borne on her in this way. He interfered with her; 
he was to choose her acquaintances down to the humblest. 
And chief of all, he chose Clare Montressor, who had never 
been congenial to her. 

Why had not Clare gone on to Norway, as she talked so 
freely of doing? Was she staying in Paris all on Lord 
Leigh's account? 

And still among all her musings rang the words: 

“ You will meet the evil genius of your life.” 

Would she? 

Indeed, yes; the unconscious and fated Violet had met 
her in this very woman, this unassuming, softly spoken 
Miss Hope, and" well did Lord Leigh know it. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ I LOVE YOU AND I HATE YOU!” 

Violet was too little practiced in what are called the 
“ proprieties of social life” to show an entirely clear brow 
and genial welcome to Lady Clare Montressor and her 
friend, Lady Jane Hartley, when they came out to join her. 

On this occasion there seemed to exist some secret under- 
standing between Lady Clare and Lady Jane. There were 
broken sentences, guarded glances exchanged, and inquisi- 
tive looks at Violet. 

Lord Leigh, on his part, ignored his recent anger, and 
tried to be more than usually agreeable. He glanced at the 
cold, haughty, quiet face of Lady Clare. She had a cer- 
tain style, if no beauty — a style that he rather liked; and 
once he had thought, at his father's suggestion, of making 
her Lady Leigh. His father had said, “ In this generation 
we happily need not look for money to build up the Leighs; 
let us reinforce with high birth.” 

But later this Leigh had speculated and betted, and he 
had needed the fortune more than the blue blood. There 


52 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


was a face in the background of his life that outvalued the 
style and rank of Glare and the fortune of. Violet, but 
a face that Norman Leigh had sentenced to exile from 
his heart. 

After their dinner, in a private room at the hotel, the 
ladies withdrew to a reserved parlor. Finding little of in- 
terest in the chat of her two companions, Violet went out on 
a balcony, and wandering up and down, happened to come 
near a window where her cousin and Lady Jane were 
seated. Suddenly she heard Lady Jane say: 

4 4 What do" you suppose was Lord Leigh’s reason for 
whisking his wife out of Paris to-day? I never was more 
surprised than when he came in and begged us to get ready 
for Sevres at once, and let it seem as if we had arranged 
the matter some hours earlier.” 

44 Leigh has a talent for maneuvering,” said Lady Clare. 

44 But people seldom maneuver for sheer love of it. There 
must be a reason. Is there a lover in the case, think?” 

44 A lover! That baby-faced chit is not likelv to have a 
lover.” 

44 Men like baby-faces; and London raved over her.” 

44 Money — only her money. And now that is in Leigh’s 
hands. It is what he married her for, and he took care 
to get the handling of plenty of it. The rest is tied to her 
children.” 

44 Money or not, she is sweet enough to win hearts,” said 
Lady Jane, 44 and I feel sure he must have seen some one 
adoring her afar off, or heard that some one was enamored 
of her looks, or have seen her glances wandering, or* why 
should he hurry her here, with us for company, and not 
wish her to know the scheme? I’ll venture he feared to 
have her meet some one at the opera to-night.” 

Violet heard astounded. She seemed to be always hear- 
ing things she should not hear, and which set her against 
Lord Leigh. Her thoughts flew to Keith. Had Leigh in 
some way heard that she was Keith’s early love, and had he 
carried her off lest Keith should see her? Was he develop- 
ing the tyrant so quickly? 

If she must be suspected and treated as a criminal, when 
her intentions were so pure and lofty — when she was sure 
she was putting Keith out of her heart for mere sake of 
goodness — she would not endure it, she would run away 
from Leigh, and hide herself forever. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


53 


At this moment she saw on the distant end of the bal- 
cony a glittering point, which she knew must represent 
Leigh’s cigar, as he took his after-dinner smoke. She 
went boldly to him. 

“Why did you bring me here to-day, Norman?” 

“ I thought you would enjoy it.” 

“ Was it to take me away from any one? To prevent my 
seeing some one?” 

Lord Leigh took his cigar from his lips, and there was a 
little silence, then he said : 

“Keally, Violet, that is a most absurd inquiry. I wish 
you were not so suspicious. It is very unbecoming in one 
so young, and in a wife.” 

“I only desire to say to you,” said Violet, “that if you 
do not wish me to see any one, or have evil thoughts of 
any one, I would rather you would deal with me openly.” 

“ Put such folly out of your head,” said Lord Leigh. “ I 
assure you lam afraid of nobody.” 

Still, the idea that he was jealous about Keith lin- 
gered, and unluckily, kept her thoughts with Keith most 
of that night. At breakfast she was made ashamed of these 
suspicions, and, being ashamed, became more kind to her 
husband, to atone for the injury done him in her hasty 
thoughts. He said to Lady Clare: 

“ Have you seen Lord Keith? — he is in Paris.” 

“I hardly know him,” said Lady Clare. 

“ He is a mighty fine fellow. He called on us the other 
day, only I was out. Why doesn’t he come again, Violet? 
Did you frighten him off with your cold ways? I must look 
him up. It will be nice to have him come to our box at 
the theatre or opera, so I can stroll round to the others, to 
see Lady Clare and the rest of the people.” 

Evidently he had no jealousy or ill thoughts of Keith. 
Perhaps he had come to Sevres just to amuse her. Thus 
Violet blushed for herself, and tried to find more virtues 
in her indifferent husband. In fact, for the next few 
days after they returned to Paris he attended her much 
more closely than before. They went to the Park Monceaux 
one afternoon, and leaving the carriage at the gate, strolled 
about the walks looking after the flowers, children, and 
water-fowl. 

Glancing about, as they rested on a rustic seat, Violet 
saw Miss Hope, her proposed embroidery mistress, seated 


54 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


some rods off. She wondered if Leigh saw her, hut evidently 
he did not. He said, presently: 

“ Come, Violet — it is time we were continuing our 
drive.” 

He took her to the carriage, hut when she was seated in 
it he drew back. 

“ On second thought, I will let you go alone. I must 
call on a member of our club, who lives near here.” 

He stood watching until the landeau turned a corner, 
then he re-entered the park, and rapidly approached Miss 
Hope. 

She sat drawing geometric figures on the sand of the 
walk with the tip of her parasol, and did not look up, even 
when he stood before her. 

He said, in a low, angry tone: 

“ Why did you thrust your society on my wife?” 

“ I warned you I would. I do as I say.” 

“ And why, I wish to know?” 

“ I told you your wife should be a miserable woman.” 

“ It is not in your power to make her so.” 

“ And why not?” 

“We are not a romantic couple. She has invested no 
grand passion in me, and will not be disturbed by anything 
you may tell her. She is not to be made miserable by any 
revelations.” 

“ Then I will, instead, make you miserable. 

Lord Leigh laughed hardly. 

“ You cannot. I have married two millions, and, unless 
you rob me of that, I am safe.” 

“Rest assured I shall find some way!” she cried, 
fiercely. 

“ And why all this zeal in the cause of misery?” 

“ You know why,” she said, rising, and looking him in 
the eyes. “ You know I loved you. I adored you. I cast 
myself at your feet. You played with my passion. The 
first time I saw you I was infatuated with you. Why, I 
cannot tell. You saw it; and, for the sake of meeting 
and courting my pupil, Edna Ambrose, you amused your- 
self with my devotion. You threw away idle words, looks, 
flowers, books, on me; and I, fool that I was, dreamed I 
should be Lady of Leigh. I will be revenged on you. I 
love you, and I hate you! Since love has no satisfaction, 
hate shall!” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


55 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ I KKOW HIM OF OLD. ” 

The day after their return to Paris from Sevres, Lord 
Leigh had said to Violet: 

f< I hope you will remember to dismiss your embroidery 
teacher/’ , 

Violet knew that she would only put herself in the wrong 
by resisting, so she sent Kate with a note, inclosing five 
pounds, and saying: 

i( I find I cannot take the lessons. I forgot to ask your 
price. I hope this will pay for the trouble and the 
material.” 

The second day after, as she was entering her landau, a 
little boy handed her a note. She opened it, and read: 

“Lady Leigh: I an; sorry you cannot continue the lessons. It 
seems hard that you should be deprived of such a small indulgence as 
that. I return two pounds ten, which you overpaid me. I am not a 
pauper, but a gentlewoman, if I am earning my bread, and I did not 
expect you would try to make me an object of chanty. But I see the 
world of fashion is all alike. I shall be thinking of this experience 
while I am copying some lace patterns at the Hotel de Cluriy, where I 
shall be busy for the next week. Helen Hope.” 

Violet was much distressed by this note. It seemed to 
put her in the wrong. She felt as if she had insulted this 
lonely lady, and her vivid imagination pictured her brood- 
ing over her grief, as she worked in the Museum of An- 
tiquities. 

Why need she insult and pain a sister woman, young, 
lonely, and poor? Violet was very sensitive to an implied 
reproach, and the following day she could not resist going 
to the Hotel Cluny, to find Miss Hope, and beg her not to 
be hurt; that she had meant no unkindness; to try and ex- 
plain away her sudden change about the lessons. 

It never occurred to her frank mind that this was what 
Helen Hope had intended as a result of her note. 

If- Violet had really loved her husband, or felt that he 
loved her, she would have recognized the royal authority of 
love over her actions, and she would not have reasoned her- 
self into a step contrary to Leigh's wishes. 


56 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


When she went to the old palace of Cluny, looking from 
the Hall of the Baths, she saw in a corridor Helen Hope 
alone, apparently absorbed in copying embroidery. 

She looked up, and bowed in an offended way, as the 
graceful figure of the Countess of Leigh drew near. 

“ I came to find you,” said Violet, in her gentle, entreat- 
ing voice. “I wish to tell you I am sorry if I have hurt 
your feelings. I would not for the world — I am sorry I 
cannot ” 

She stopped, hesitating, for she was never good at ex- 
planations, and Miss Hope’s cold, imperious gray eyes 
seemed looking her through and through, and scorching her 
very soul. 

“I see. It was your husband who forbade you.” 

“He did not think it was well,” began Violet. 

“ That you should see me?” interrupted Miss Hope. 
“ He was afraid of what I might tell you. I know him of 
old.” 

“ You know my husband?” cried Violet, startled inex- 
pressibly. 

“Yes, well. Better than you do, or you would not be 
Lady Leigh.” 

“ I do not believe it,” said Violet, turning red and pale. 

“ You do believe it. He knew me when he was engaged 
to Miss Ambrose — and before.” 

“ That is an old story,” said Violet, feigning indifference, 
though her heart was in a terrible tumult. 

“ It will never grow old to me,” said Miss Hope. “ I 
have watched you two together. You do not care for him, 
but I loved him. Oh, you start! You had never heard of 
me. Yes, Lady Leigh, he has touched my hand, and 
kissed my lips, and called me by my name, and given me 
gifts — this very bracelet that I wear; and now he pretends 
to you not to know me; he calls me an adventuress, and 
forbids mv presence near you. What do you thir^k of that 
for treachery?” 

In her fury Helen Hope had used one of Lord Leigh’s 
very expressions, and it struck coldly home to Violet’s sen- 
sibilities. There was just enough of living truth in this 
garbled tale to give it an impressiveness that branded it on 
poor little Violet’s heart. She had stood rooted to the spot, 
as if held with a fatal fascination by Helen Hope’s voice 
and eye. Now she started. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS , . 


57 


u I am sorry for yon; but in all this I am helpless.” 

“ I know you are. I am the one who should be sorry for 
you, fettered to a man who deceives you. Your husband 
has no tender heart. Lady Leigh. Once he gave me flowers 
and wandered with me along Leigh woods, and now he 
would rather see me starve on the streets of Paris than earn 
bread at your hand.” 

Even as she spoke she searched the lovely flower-like face 
of the little Countess of Leigh. This morning talk was but 
the beginning of her plan for vengeance. She' was studying 
her victim. Violet was her enemy solely because, in mar- 
rying Lord Leigh, she had unconsciously crossed Helen 
Hope's passion and ambition. 

“ Hush! hush! Do not speak so. Let me help you.” 

“ Thanks. I need no help. I am glad I have seen you. 
I shall always remember you as a sweet creature, worthy a 
better fate. Lady Leigh, you are crying; drop your vail; 
people will be staring at you.” 

Violet dropped her vail, and, as one dazed by a heavy 
blow, she went out jnto the small, still, lovely garden of 
Cluny, an ancient garden known even in Roman times; 
but in all who had walked its rosy shades, perhaps no sad- 
der heart had beat than that of the forlorn heiress of the 
Ainslies, whose life had come to such untimely wreck at its 
opening. The ripple of waters, and the smile of the flow- 
ers she loved, could not console her, who, seeking bread of 
life at a husband's hand, had been given but a stone. She 
had looked for love, and received only the burnt out ashes 
of a dead heart. 

* ♦ * * * * 

That evening there was to be a grand ball given by the 
Due d’Etoile, and Lord Leigh and his bride were among 
the chief guests. 

Violet stood in her dressing-room before the cheval glass, 
while the skilled hands of Kate arrayed her. But Violet's 
changeful brown eyes did not regard the exquisite figure 
that the glass mirrored in a robe of white brocade, the waist 
covered with a fine network of pearls, ropes of pearls about 
the smooth neck, and the dainty dimpled wrists, a string 
of pearls wreathed in the dark waves and braids of her 
shining hair. Her eyes were rather fastened on a bouquet 
waiting for her on her dressing-table. A white bouquet, 


58 


A BEAUTS BITTERNESS. 


snowy heath, and heliotrope, and lilies of the valley, and 
tiny white rosebuds, all white, and fragrant, and fair as her 
own sweet self. It had come to her from Kenneth Keith. 
She trembled, and her heart beat fast, and her eyes filled 
with bitter-sweet tears as she looked at it. 

She was dressed, and went into the drawing-room where 
Lord Leigh waited. 

Kate followed her with a satin cloak lined with swans- 
down. 

44 You look as a Countess of Leigh should look,” said 
Lord Leigh, surveying the enchanting figure with some 
pride. 44 But how white you are — not only your dress, but 
your face is as white as your bouquet.” 

44 Lord Keith sent me my bouquet,” said Violet, trem- 
bling. 

She was resolved that however Leigh might deceive her, 
on her part she should be thoroughly open and clear. 

44 Did he? Good of him,” said Leigh, carelessly. 
44 Didn't know but you had offended him. Keith was al- 
ways fond of flowers; had his room in Oriel College cum- 
bered with a great stand of plants, and new bouquets every 
day.” 

He gave her his arm and they went down to the carriage, 
Violet wondering if she should see Keith at the ball. 

Yes, he was there. He came to them soon after they en- 
tered the room; and while a buzz of compliment, a fire of 
admiring glances followed the charming bride of Leigh, 
there leaped from Kenneth's eyes one flash of adoring ad- 
miration that meant more than all the rest. 

44 Thank you for my bouquet,” said Violet, as he came up. 

44 1 am glad if you like it. May I ask a dance — two?” 

44 The first belongs to Lord Leigh,” said Violet, timidly. 

44 But they don't all belong to me,” said Leigh, in the 
most matter-of-fact manner. 44 A man doesn't expect to 
dance with his wife all the sets. Certainly, you have a 
dance for Keith, Violet. Put him down for two or three 
waltzes. He is a wonderful waltzer.” 

Violet took out her tablet, and blindly followed her fate. 
But the heart of Keith said that if this pearl of women was 
his wife, he would be the man who would wish to dance with 
his wife all the sets, and would feel a cruel agony if he saw 
her whirled away in other arms. Did he not feel some of 
that agony as she danced with Leigh? 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


59 


The gorgeous palace of the Due de’Etoile was a blaze of 
light. 

In all that brilliant assembly, Violet, in her snowy beauty, 
with her guileless face and shy, gentle mien, shone as a 
bright particular star. Every one inquired about her, and 
admired her, and envied Lord Leigh. Never had her aunt, 
the Countess Montressor, been so surrounded by a crowd of 
eager men as now, when this charming bride was beside 
her. 

It is not in youth and health to resist such surround- 
ings. Violet loved dancing; her little feet naturally kept 
time to music; and now all the splendors that met her 
on every hand wiled her from herself, and she grew 
bright and gay; and, for the hour, all those dark figures 
that had begun to fill the background of her life and 
intrude upon her silent hours, faded out of sight. But 
it was when she danced with Kenneth Keith that joy 
strangely passed into pain, and Violet became pale and 
still. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ THERE ARE SOME WOMEM SO LOVELY THEY CAH HEVER 
BE FORGOTTEH.” 

After the second waltz with Lord Keith, the ball-room 
seemed too close and dazzling for Violet. She longed for 
quiet — some silent place to still the confusion of her heart . 
and brain. 

Captain Gore and Sir Hugh Hunter, who had been at 
her wedding, were in Paris for a few days, and she had 
promised a dance to Captain Gore. She excused herself 
on the score of fatigue, and when the floor was once more 
a kaleidoscopic vision of beautiful figures floating about on 
strong arms, with long, flower-crowned tresses waving, or 
braids shimmering under the brilliant lights, Violet left 
her aunt's side, and passing out on a balcony, was wiled 
into the inclosed garden, where parti-colored lamps made 
a new bizarre day among the flower-set paths. She moved 
along to a fountain, and sat down by the brim, and above 
her a great magnolia spread its dark shining leaves and 


60 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


nectar-laden .flowers. On her lap lay Keith’s bouquet. 
She had heard Leigh pressing on Keith a share in some 
of their plans for the next week or two, and she had seen 
Kenneth divided between desire and fear to accept. 

A step on the gravel suggested to her the he whom 
she had loved and lost, and found but to lose more un- 
utterably, was near. She remembered his step through 
all those parted years. She looked up. 

“I saw you come out alone. Are you ill or tired, 
Violet?” 

In her brief married life Leigh had never spoken to 
her with tones of such absorbing tenderness. Keith did 
not know the infinite love that was in his voice. 

“No; but I grow tired of tumult. I think I am made 
for more quiet things. I believe I am more like Words- 
worth’s Lucy than any one else — a simple little person, hap- 
piest when out of sight. You remember — 

“ ‘ She grew beside the untrodden ways, 

Along the banks of Dove, 

A maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love.’ 

That is like me. You sent me this bouquet, did y.ou not? 
I was glad to get it. I feared you might be angry.” 

“Angry? I could never be angry with you, Violet.” 

“I think you have great cause. When a woman spoils a 
man’s life, then he has great cause for anger. But you said 
you would be friends with me, after all.” 

“Yes, and I am, heart and soul. To begin, I fear you 
will take cold out in the air, with your neck uncovered. 
You look so frail to me. Allow me.” 

And taking a large white silk kerchief from his pocket, 
he laid it gently about her shoulders. 

Violet looked up at him with her innocent eyes. 

“ I like to be taken care of,” she said, simply; and Keith 
felt such a thrill of rebellion against the fate that forbade 
his constant care of her, that he drew back a step in self- 
defiance. 

“ This is a brilliant scene, this ball, and I hope you are 
enjoying it,” he said; “and if you like quiet pleasures and 
rural scenes, as I know you do, no doubt you will like it 
much at Leigh Towers. I understand it is one of the finest, 
most romantic estates in England.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


61 


Violet remembered how Leigh Towers was poisoned for 
her by the shadows of Miss Ambrose and Helen Hope. 

“ I do not expect to be happy," she said, quietly. “ Lord 
Keith, how did you come to send me all white flowers? 
They match my dress exactly. I love white flowers." 

She was trying thus poorly to get into safe conversation. 

“ Perhaps I considered that you are a bride, and then I 
remembered how, long ago, in Lincolnshire, you liked the 
white flowers, the white violets, the saxifrage, the white 
fox-glove; and then, too, these white flowers reminded me 
of that sweet, noble saying of yours, the other day, that 
though you could not be happy, you could and should find 
your satisfaction always in being good; and I hoped the 
perfume of these flowers would say to you that goodness is 
sure to grow into happiuess." 

Violet raised the flowers to her face. 

“ It is a doubly lovely bouquet," she said, “with all 
those sweet meanings in it. I wish it would last forever; 
but it will die. But your words shall never die. Now I 
know you are my friend." 

“ Oh, how it grieves me," said Kenneth, “to hear those 
sad tones in that voice, which used to ring as clear and glad 
as any flute. Violet, you must be happy; for my sake will 
not be happy?" 

“I think I can only promise to endure bravely," said 
Violet,, after a little meditation. “ To you, to most people, 
Lord Keith, it may seem a very simple thing, this trouble 
of mine. To be married, and not love or be loved, that is 
an old and common story. Many think married love is all 
a romance; Lord Leigh does. But you know I have never 
had a real home, nor the association of those really belong- 
ing to me. My nature needs some one to cling to. I want 
to be taken care of, to be loved, and petted, and encouraged 
by some one who loves me for myself alone, not for any- 
thing that I have; some one who would love me just as well 
if I were a poor girl — a Lord Ronald, such as loved Lady 
Clare, you know." 

“Yes? But I have forgotten Lord Ronald, I fear," said 
Keith, feeling that he was on dangerous ground. 

“ Forgotten Tennyson's ballad of Lady Clare? She was 
thought a great lady and heiress, and the day before she 
was to marry Lord Ronald, she found she had been 
changed at nurse, and was not a great person at all; and 


62 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


she put on e a russet gown/ and went and told Lord Ronald, 
and then: 

w 

“ He laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turned and kissed her where she stood; 

‘ If you are not the heiress born, 

And I,’ said he, ‘the next in blood — 

“If you are not the heiress born, 

And I,’ said he, ‘the lawful heir, 

We two will wed to-morrow morn, 

And you shall still be Lady Clare.* 

“Now, you see, she could not doubt that she was really 
loved. But few people are like that. My cousin, Clare 
Montressor, thinks the Lady Clare was simply idiotic to tell 
the truth; and I know if Lord Leigh had been in Lord 
Ronald’s place he would have blamed Clare, and ended all." 

Despite his sorrows and disturbance, Lord Keith had to 
smile at Violet’s simplicity. She was so exactly such as she 
had been four years before. 

“ I am sure Leigh would have done better than that," he 
said. 

“ Lord Keith — Kenneth, you are a man, and you can tell 
me truly. If a man pretends to love a woman, and merely 
trifles with her feelings, and goes off and leaves her, is he 
always — is he not a cruel, bad man?" 

Keith had heard various stories of Leigh, and he felt 
something of what was in her mind. He replied bravely: 

“ Not always. You do not know the world nor women, 
Violet. There are women who pursue men and seek to 
marry them, and, failling, make a loud outcry about deceit 
and wounded affections. Men are not always the ones to 
blame. Some women claim attention, some misconstrue 
the commonest attentions. And then, if these follies have 
been in a man’s life, he settles down and abandons them 
when he is married." 

“ Unless he has loved one he cannot forget," said Violet. 
“ I suppose there are some women so lovely they can never 
be forgotten." 

This was too much for the resolution of Kenneth Keith. 
His heart- woe burst forth in an uncontrollable cry: 

“Like you, Violet — little Violet, like you! Can I ever 
forget you?" 

Violet realized what she had done in opening, in her un- 
gtiarded confidence, such a flood-gate of passion, her heart. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


63 


breaking for Keith’s sorrow, sprang up, and, laying her 
hand on his folded arms sobbed out: 

“ No, no! don’t say it! don’t feel it! Iam not worthy 
of it. Forget me, Kenneth — it is all I ask. Let me suffer 
alone!” 

AVas that a tear, a man’s hot, bitter tear, that fell on her 
bare, white arm? 

Kenneth turned his back and stood silent, struggling 
with himself. Violet, like a culprit waiting sentence, stood 
beside the fountain. Keith turned. 

“ I do not wish to forget you; I do not wish you to suffer; 
and I am sure I shall learn to look at life as I ought. You 
can help me best, Violet, by accepting your lot with con- 
tent; by resolving to be happy; by seeking all the good that 
is in your husband, and learning to love him.” 

“ He does not want my love,” moaned Violet. “I must 
learn to do without love. I have believed that love was the 
sweetest, holiest thing; that it was woman’s life, her 
strengh and stay; and' I must do without it all; and I will! 
I, too, can be strong. Leave me. Good-by, Kenneth. We 
will never talk of this again.” 

Keith felt that he must go. He left her alone. 

What would Lord Leigh have thought if he had seen 
Violet then, and learned the depths of tenderness and sor- 
row in her soul? Knowledge of her capacity for loving 
might have roused him to love, and changed all their lives. 
But he had said his wife was romantic and poetic, and these 
were surface feelings, while her true nature was passionless 
as lilies are. 

Ignorant of the real depths of her heart, he went blindly 
on, and day by day he and Violet drifted on a darkening 
fate. 

Oh, what might have been saved them if he had only 
known her better! 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A DANGER IN THE WAY. 

Violet, Countess of Leigh, now stood in most perilous 
places. On the one hand, the indifference of a husband so 
little in sympathy with her; on the other, the revival of her 


64 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


early love for Keith betrayed her. Environed by such dan- 
gers, how many young and lovely women have gone down 
to ruin ere they were aware! 

Child as she was in heart and experience, Violet was en- 
tering on a long and terrible tragedy. Should she come 
out of it unscathed in soul, the garments of her womanly 
purity still white as snow, or was it written in her fate that 
Violet Leigh was born not only to sorrow but to reproach? 

She did not see her husband until dinner the day after 
the duke's fete. She was dressed for the opera when she 
came in. Her dress was a blue Chinese crape, caught with 
knots of myosotis, and the clouds of puffed lace that lay 
over her neck and arms were held by bands of pearl and 
turquois. Her costume was very becoming. 

Lord Leigh nodded approval. 

“ That is right. These fastidious Parisians can find no 
fault with that. There will be plenty of admirers about 
our box, I fancy. I told Keith we should see him there." 

“Why did you do that? I do not think any one gentle- 
man should be singled out for attention." 

Lord Leigh burst into a laugh. 

“I — used to know Lord Keith," said Violet, flushing 
painfully, and looking down as one confessing a crime. “I 
liked him — much. And he liked me." 

“ Showed his good taste," said Lord Leigh, eating 
truffle. 

“ My aunt — warned me," said Violet, ready to cry, “that 
if any one young man paid me attention, people might 
make remarks, and — you might be angry." 

“Bless your soul!" said her husband, with coolest indif- 
ference, “ I shall not be angry. You have a quantity of 
poetry and romance, but altogether of the Tennysonian 
sort. Who is going to be jealous of you? One might as 
well expect a woman of snow to take fire, as such a cool 
little creature as you to stir up a passion. Don't imagine 
yourself into a three-volume novel, Lady Leigh. You have 
my full warrant to be agreeable to all who call at our box. 
No one will hang about you more than I do about Lady 
Clare, and who minds that?" 

“ I don't see what you find attractive in Lady Clare," 
said Violet, firing up, for she was naturally jealous. 

“ No? I like her cold style; and her patrician face shows 
pure blood, if she is plain. I wish you could learn to sweep 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS, 


65 


a house with your glass, or look a person down, as Lady 
Clare does. But she has one charm — she has the most 
beautiful hands and arms in the world.” 

“ And she shows them off all the time,” cried Violet. 

“ Who wouldn't when they are so superb? Now yours 
are too slender,” said the husband, with refreshing frank- 
ness. 

Violet was ashamed of Kerself that she had shown any 
pettishness about her cousin. The nature of Lady Leigh 
was generous and noble. She .desired to change the con- 
versation, and so cease to discuss Lady Clare. 

“When are we going to Switzerland? I am tired of 
Paris.” 

“ Let us start Friday, if you do not fear the day. Are 
you in haste to get away from Lady Clare? Surely you are 
not doing me the honor to be jealous of me?” 

“No, I am not. Only love is jealous,” said Violet, 
angrily. 

“ Fie, child, don't be angry. Why do we come on the 
verge of quarrels constantly? We need a third party to 
keep the peace between us. I mean to ask Keith to join us 
in Switzerland. He will be good company.” 

That evening at the opera, between the acts, Kenneth 
Keith made his way to Violet's box. Leigh welcomed him. 

“ Keith,” he said, after a few moments, “ come with 
us to Switzerland. You'll understand Lady Leigh’s rap- 
tures over scenery much better than I shall. I'll depend on 
you for all the poetry about f gentian bells,' and f rosy snows,' 
and ‘ gleaming glaciers.' I promised to go to Lady Clare 
Montressor's box Shall I leave my wife in your care?” 

Much as he loved Violet, Lord Kenneth Keith loved 
honor more. Violet's timidity ,and her husband's confi- 
dence, called him to the serene and easy paths of simple 
friendship. He summoned all his tact, and when they left 
the opera-house, Violet's heart felt at rest. What had she 
feared? What had she to fear? She had lost in Keith a 
lover, but she had gained a friend and brother. What could 
be more sweet? 

“You'll come along with us, Keith? — save us a guide?” 
said Leigh, as Keith stood by their carriage. 

Keith looked at Violet, and the happy, hopeful look in 
the ingenuous brown eyes-decided him for the path of dan- 
ger. He answered: 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


C6 

“I will meet you there. " 

He was just turning from the carriage, when a figure 
came between him and the step, an arm was reached forth, 
and a woman's voice said: 

“ You dropped this." 

Lord Leigh fairly snatched the handkerchief held out by 
the extended hand. 

“ Drive on! Why do you block the way?" he cried, 
angrily, to the coachman. “ Violet, do lean back in your 
seat. To look about a crowd that way is surely bad form. 
From your remarks at dinner one w r ould expect something 
better." 

“ I thought the person who gave you the handkerchief 
was the Englishwoman who was teaching me embroidery." 

“Yes? Adventurers hang about everywhere." 

“ She said her name was Helen Hope." 

“Took it out of a directory, no doubt." 

“ I was sure I saw her in the house to-night. She was 
watching you while you were at Lady Clare's box." 

“There, you see, what trouble you get me into, by tak- 
ing up with stray adventurers," said Leigh coolly. “ Ho 
doubt she will be begging me for fifty pounds, for a country 
woman in distress." 

“ But did you never meet her before?" 

“ What nonsense! — to ask such a question!" 

“ But did you?" persisted Violet. 

“Ho, I did not," said Leigh, tartly. 

Violet was sure he was telling her an untruth, and she 
thought of it with angry scorn. 

Then she blamed herself for pressing him to it. But 
would not she have answered any question frankly? She 
felt sure she would. 

Meanwhile Leigh knew that the handkerchief given him 
contained a note, and he cursed his fate that he was pur- 
sued by Helen Hope. 

Finally in his dressing-room he unfolded the scrap of 
paper tied in one corner of the kerchief. 

“Meet me on the Pont de la Concorde, to-morrow evening at 
twelve o’clock, unless you prefer to see me at your rooms. 

“Helen H.” 

One clear and open course was before Lord Leigh. He 
could have allowed his enemy to pursue him to his own 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


67 


home if she dared, and have defied her. With Violet he 
had nothing to lose. But, unfortunately, he had pretended 
to Violet that this woman was a total stranger. The crooked 
paths of deceit were more natural to Leigh than the high- 
way of truth. All the terrors of his fate came upon him 
from the lack of moral courage to meet and brave in clear 
light the danger that lay in his way. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ON THE BRIDGE AT MIDNIGHT. 

The splendid mansion of the Duchess of Pontalba, next 
to the British Embassy, was a blaze of light and magnifi- 
cence. Carriage after carriage rolled up, and left at the 
stately portal, fair and richly dressed women, and men 
titled, renowned, decorated with the orders of many 
kingdoms. ~ 

Among the throng which passed over the strip of velvet 
carpet, under the damask canopy, and so up the marble 
steps, guarded by tall urns, filled with gorgeous tropic 
plants, was Lord Leigh, with Violet, his wife. Lord Leigh, 
possessor of an old name, a vast estate, and the hand of 
the richest heiress in England, was the center of all eyes, 
and the envy of most hearts, as he led his bride to salute 
the Duchess of Pontalba. 

But when the gorgeous assembly rooms were filled, and 
in the smiling, talking, dancing throng, one could not be 
missed. Norman Leigh wrapped a cloak about him, and 
passing from the glittering scene, went with rapid step 
through the Rue Royale, and the Place de la Concorde out 
upon the Pont de la Concorde to the meeting to which he 
had been summoned. 

Leigh seated himself on the heavy parapet, and looked 
moodily at the river running blackly under the fine frown- 
ing arches. 

Part of these huge granite blocks had been in the hope- 
less, fateful walls of the bastile; but never had beaten 
near them a heart harder than that of Norman Leigh, nor 
stormier than that of the woman who had summoned him 
to this tryst. 


68 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Sitting there in his cloak, his arms folded on his bosom, 
his eyes on the dark river, with its ripples lit with reflected 
fire, Leigh heard the steps and trailing of a woman's gown, 
but he never moved nor spoke. She went by him and re- 
turned, but still his eyes were on the Seine. . Then she 
stopped and held out her hands with a cry as jf wrenched 
from her by some mighty throe of agony. 

“Norman, speak to me!" 

He turned his face slowly to her. 

“ What is the meaning of all this nonsense — this meet- 
ing?" 

“ It means that I must and will see you." 

“ This all might as well be ended first as last. I had 
-supposed that my marrying would finish your folly." 

“ When one cannot live for love one lives for vengeance." 

“ That sounds tragic, but it does not suit the nineteenth 
century; it belongs to the middle ages and the theater. I 
met you to-night simply to make you hear sense. You have 
been resolved to marry me. You fancied that you could be 
Countess of Leigh. You see that is forever ended." 

“ If I had only known sooner. If I had not been held 
fast in my bed by fever, you should not have married." 

“ I do not think you could have prevented it. But that 
is all done. If it is money you demand, Helen, I am willing 
to be liberal, on condition that you keep entirely away from 
me and my wife." 

“ I will not have a penny of your money till I have all 
you have," cried Helen Hope, furiously. 

“ That is arrant folly," said Lord Leigh, calmly. 

“ You may be free again," panted she; “ men get free by 
.divorce or by death. You only married for money." 

“ That may be. How mu 1 T 



known when it outweighed 


Montressor, and the beauty of Edna Ambrose." 

“And for me — did you- never think of me?" she wailed. 
“ Oh, Norman. Norman, no one ever loved you as I 
have." 

He looked in silence at the river. 

“ Tell me — if you were free, would you marry me?" 

“No, I would not." 

“Mark my words," she said, with concentrated fury, 
“you shall marry me or die! You shall be mine in life or 
in death. I will sit by your side as Countess of Leigh, or 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


we two will go down to death together, and if I cannot 
have love, I will have vengeance." 

He shuddered at her tone; it had a weight as of prophecy 
in it. She towered in her fury as a sibyl. 

“ Helen Hope, what have I done more than other men 
that I should be pursued in this fashion?" 

“You thought you exercised your patrician right when 
you trifled with me, a poor, lonely girl. I believed all that 
you said. I grew to adore you because I thought you stooped 
from high estate to lift me to your rank. And what were 
you doing all the time? Merely courting me, that through 
me you might gain access to my pupil; merely making me 
a means of reaching Edna. When my whole soul was at 
your feet; when I loved the sound of your voice, envied the 
air that blew about you, the very servants who waited on 
you — when you were my one thought in life, I found you 
at her feet protesting your passion for her, and when she 
told you she supposed you cared for me, you laughed the 
idea to scorn, and said you never had had such a thought 
— that she as mistaken — that you had merely been a little 
kind to a forlorn soul. I am a forlorn soul; you have made 
me doubly so. Norman Leigh, I stand between love and 
hate. I swear to you you shall once more be free to choose 
a wife, and you shall choose me or die!" 

“You are mad," said Leigh, with a thrill of fear. 

“ Hear me," she said. “ I am resolved to be Countess 
of Leigh. You shall be free, and you shall be glad to 
marry me. The fortune you needed to restore your estates 
is yours. I will be no wife to be ashamed of; I know how 
to hold my own; there is good blood in my veins. I will 
not be hindered of the one hope of my life. Mark my words 
— you shall marry me, or die with me!” 

“ This talk is all idle," said Leigh. “ Go your way, and 
I will go mine. Mark me, I will not meet you again. Any- 
thing in reason to satisfy you I will do, but I will not come 
to hear threats and protestations." 

He returned hastily to the splendors of the ball-room, 
and left Helen Hope gazing into the black depths of the 
river. 


70 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


CHAPTEK XVIII. 

“NOW I SEE AND AM SURE OF MY REVENGE.” 

Morning in Berne, the first Swiss town where Lord Leigh 
and Violet have tarried. 

Lord Leigh is pacing up and down the breakfast-room, 
and on a side table lie the letters which he has just 
opened. 

A door swings open, and through it comes Violet. 
The flush of wild roses is on her cheeks, and light lies 
tremulous in her dewy brown eyes. The deft Kate has ar- 
rayed her in a tuft mull dress, with round, full waist, and 
blue sash tied in a great bow behind, like a child’s. Fresh, 
simple, healthful, sweet, she enters, and faces the restless 
Leigh. 

“Have you seen the mountains, Norman? I have been 
on the balcony watching them. The far-off ranges are 
all pink, and gold, and purple. % The glaciers are like 
silver lakes.” 

“I’m dead sick of mountains. I’m sick of everything.” 

“ You have been sitting up too late. You make yourself 
nervous, smoking so constantly, and drinking brandy and 
water,” said Violet, versed by this time in the manners of 
her lord, and contrasting them with the early hours, the 
one glass of wine after dinner, and the single evening cigar, 
indulged in by the .banker prince, her uncle. 

Lord Leigh shruggled his shoulders, gathered the letters 
into his pocket, and drank a cup of tea as strong as lye. 
Violet noticed his excited eyes, his feverish manner. 

“ You will feel better for being out in the air,” she said. 
“ Let us walk or ride about here all day; let us keep quiet 
hours, and have plain, regular meals, and be like the coun- 
try people. I like that life best. We cannot tire of going 
about here. It is just like Martin’s picture of the Plains of 
Heaven.” 

“Twenty-four hours of this would kill me. I must 
make a start,” said Lord Leigh, swallowing tea with brandy 
in it. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


71 


Violet viewed the depoction with disgust, and cried out: 

“ Oh, Norman, must we go before I have seen any- 
thing. ^ 

“ You needn't go. Til be back in a week. I must give 
myself a little dip in life without you. I don't think I was 
made for a family man." 

“What! leave me here all alone?" cried Violet, in 
dismay. 

•“ You have four or five servants, and there are English 
people about. You can't expect me always to be tied to 
you, Violet." 

She recalled that they had been married less than a 
month. 

“And Keith is coming. He'll go about with you." 

Violet's lips quivered as she considered that Keith's com- 
ing would be as much pain as joy, and more peril than 
comfort. 

“Where are you going?" she asked, tremulously. 

“To Homburg." 

Violet had fio idea what might lie wrapped up in the word 
Homburg. She mentally reviewed her geography, and told 
herself that Homburg was not so very far off. After all, 
what difference did it make? She really had no loving 
shelter in him, and she must learn to protect herself — to be 
strong in herself — as she had no one to lean on. 

Thus it happened that within a month from her ill- 
omened wedding-day Violet was left alone in the little town 
of Berne. 

She spent two days reading novels on the balcony, or 
walking about the small Swiss city, in guardianship of 
Kate, her maid, amusing herself in the unexciting 
method of feeding Berne's tutelar bears, and giving coin to 
sturdy Swiss children. 

The third day, Violet, with a book, and Kate, with a 
roll of fancy work, set off to spend the morning in a little 
wooded plateau, where, through the openings in the trees, 
the Bernese overland lay revealed in all its serene splendors. 
In the lush grass of this plateau lay couchant, like a young 
lion, a youthful Saxon, large of limb, and frank of heart, 
lying with his yellow-curled head on his bent arm, his eyes 
on the distance, his thoughts with the woman he had loved 
and lost. Across the line of this dreamer's vision moved, 
cutting off, with her small, piquant figure,, a view of the 


72 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Finsteraarhorn; a slender creature, with brown hair ruffling 
about her sweet, shining eyes; a dainty vision, which this 
young man thought should go like the gods, marching on 
rosy clouds, with little loves and holy graces, rejoiced to be 
bearers of her train. 

But, in her short nuns’ vailing walking-dress, and unsup- 
ported by any being more ethereal or reliable than her maid 
Kate, Kenneth Keith’s goddess moves on, and he perforce 
rises up to do her homage, which act he performs coldly 
enough, having his manners, if not his heart, well in hand. 

Kate throws upon the gaass her lady’s shawl, and re- 
tires to a convenient distance to embroider a hand-bag, 
to be added to the endless number now in her mistress’ 
possession. 

“I called at the hotel,” said Kenneth, “ and they said 
Lord Leigh had gone away. I did not expect to see you 
here.” 

“ He did not take me. He said he would come back in 
a few days; and it is too stupid to stay in my rooms at the 
hotel all the time, even with the mountains to look at. 
Do you think it is wrong for me to go out with only Kate? 
I have no one here to ask. Will you tell me what is 
proper?” 

“ Oh, certainly it is proper; only it would be better if 
you had your aunt or some lady friend with you.” 

Violet’s little head, with its plentitude of dusky locks; 
sank low. She was easily snubbed in regard to the propri- 
eties of life, which Mrs. Ainslie has made a bugbear to 
her. 

“I used to think a governess a hateful nuisance,” she 
said, ingenuously; “ but I wish I had one now. It is really 
comfortable to have some one who knows always what is 
to be done. I think it is nicer to go right than to have 
one’s way.” 

“Your way is sure to be right,” said Kenneth; and he 
added, with rising wrath: “A young bride should not 
be reduced to need either governess or companion. Her 
husband should be her companion and guide.” 

Violet lifted up two sudden, tearful eyes, like great dark 
jewels seen flashing through running water. 

“ I shall never have that,” she said, piteously. “ Do you 
think I had better get a companion — some ‘ lady in re- 
duced circumstances,’ as the advertisements read.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


73 


You will need none when you get to Leigh Towers. 
You will be at home then, and have friends about you. 
How soon are you going?” 

“ I do not know. Not till Norman comes back. Tell me 
what to see here. Where can I go with Kate?” 

“ Leigh asked me to look after you, and I will,” said 
Keith, with sudden resolution, “that is, if you will allow 
me. When Leigh comes, he can make excursions with 
you. What book have you? Let me read to you.” 

He thinks reading will be far more safe than looking into 
the humid eyes, and watching the pathetic mouth, and 
then, how easy for them to stray into dangerous topics! 

She held out the little volume — square, in white and' gold. 
Alas! it was “Locksley Hall !” 

Kenneth Keith had not read it for years — not since the 
first days when he thought Violet had forsaken him. He 
had forgotten how cruelly the poem would paint their fate. 
Could his tone fail to ring home as he read: 

“ Oh, my cousin, shallow-hearted ! Oh, my Amy, mine no more !” 

He did not see how Violet's bosom was, as Amy's, 
“shaken with a sudden storm of sighs.” 

But when he read: 

“ Is it well to wish thee happy, having known me to decline 
On a range of lower feeling, and a narrower heart than mine ?” 

he shut the book — he could go no further. 

He sprang up. 

“Let us not read. I will make you a daisy-chain, as if 
we were children, and I will sing you a song that boatmen 
sing along the Nile. The harsh -Egyptian will be better 
than this Tennysonian melody.” 

Meanwhile, a woman who was sketching, seated some dis- 
tance from them, beneath a beech tree, kept looking at 
them from under her wide hat, and a blaze of triumph 
dawned on the proud, handsome face of Helen Hope, as 
she said to herself: 

“Now I see and am sure of my revenge!” 


74 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS , . 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“HE LOVES ME HOT.” 

The next few days were to Violet a glimpse of fairy-land. 
Around her rose the grandeur and glory of the Swiss Moun- 
tains. The air that breathed on her was fresh from the 
glaciers and snowy summits, and the earth was carpeted 
with the flowers of the Alpine lands. 

Wandering in these scenes, under the guardianship of . 
Lord Keith, Violet found the fascination of glimpses of life 
in all ways foreign to her own. 

Keith with wider knowledge of the world, and the people 
in it, while he resolved to cheer the forsaken bride, was 
too discreet to endanger her by his attentions. He found 
an English family in Berne, which he knew slightly, and 
secured the company of a pair of laughing, lovely twin sis- 
ters, who joined in the rambles and visits made with Violet. 
Thus Violet’s fears were laid asleep; each day passed in 
frank, cheerful intercourse, and she fancied she had reached 
that ideal friendship which was to strengthen her. for the 
loss of married love. Keith was wise enough not to occupy 
all Violet’s time; he would not make the woman he loved, 
and desired to serve, conspicuous. Part of every day she 
rambled around as before,, accompanied by Kate, and fol- 
lowed at a little distance, by a small creature, conspicuous 
for buttons, and known as a page. 

One morning, she was wandering in this way, on the 
charming bank of the Aar, when she came suddenly upon a 
lady sketching. The artist lifted her face. 

“ Are you also forbidden to speak to me?” 

“ Certainly not. How are you. Miss Hope?” said Vio- 
let. 

“ Lonely, and I see you are alone, too. I have noticed 
you by yourself these several days. It is what I expected; 
and I feel for you, as we are both strangers in a strange 
land.” 

There was an intense sorrow in Helen Hope’s handsome 
face. She threw into the gray eyes a moving pathos. Vio- 
let seated herself on a convenient bowlder. 











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76 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


Kate, I am going to wait here a little, and look at this 
lady’s sketches, if she will show them.” 

Kate and the little page seated themselves a little way 
off, and the page sentimentally picked the white rays off a 
daisy, to the old tune, “ He loves me, he loves me not.” 

“I am sorry you are lonely,” said Violet. ee I am not; 
there is so much here to be seen and done. May I see your 
sketches?” 

Helen Hope opened the portfolio of small sketches, and 
Violet turned them over with exclamations of wonder and 
delight. 

“ I do not pity you at all,” said thfe young countess. “ I 
think it must be heavenly to be able to do such charming 
things, and to feel that you are independent, and can go 
and come and make your own way.” 

“We all prefer some lot we do not have,” said Helen. 
“ I, whose heritage has been poverty, homelessness, loneli- 
ness, namelessness, have craved with a fiery thirst, a passion 
of desire, a name, rank, station, fortune. Can you wonder 
that once, when I thought they were all just in reach of my 
hand, that I was mad with hope and joy — that the fulfill- 
ment of my one dream intoxicated me, and that sudden de- 
spair, the ruin of my hope, has made me wild, heart-broken? 
When your husband praised my voice, my air, my face, my 
accomplishments, when he spent hours at my side, when 
his were the words and looks that I have heard lovers use, 
was it a wonder that I nourished the thought that I should 
be the Countess of Leigh?” 

“ But are all marriages to be made like this, and is this 
love that has such selfish foundations?” said Violet. “ You 
loved him for rank, for name; he sought me for fortune; I 
accepted him, to end persecution and pursuit. Where in 
all this is love?” 

“ I loved him ,” said Helen. “ To me, from his air, his 
title, he seemed a god; and when I thought he stooped to 
me, my whole soul was full of gratitude; and yet it was only 
because I was poor and nameless that I thought he stooped, 
for in myself I think I am as fit to be a countess as any one. 
I could carry the rank as well as you.” 

“ Much better,” said Violet, gently. “ I am not hand- 
some, and you are, very; and I am not accomplished.” 

“ You do not need accomplishments — they are beggarly 
means of getting bread; and if you are not what is called 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


77 


handsome, you have one of those fascinating faces that has 
been at the bottom of most of the mischief that has been 
since the world was made.” 

“ Oh, please, you will make me vain!” 

“You might as well know your power and possibilities, 
an£ get some good out of your life.” 

“I expect to get no good out of, my life but goodness, 
and for that one does not need to be vain,” said Violet, 
softly. 

“ And am I really telling you more than your glass ever 
did?” said Helen, with a sardonic smile on her turned-away 
face, as she looked at the red-shirted fisher-boy. “I can 
tell you more that I read in you. The key to your whole 
life is your desire to be loved. You want every one to love 
you, and for yourself alone. You resent being loved for 
your fortune. It grieves you even that a dog, or a stray 
child, or a beggar, or a waif such as I am, should fail to 
love you. You desire to be loved by Lord Leigh, whose ca- 
pacity in that line is of the smallest, and you would grieve 
to lose the love of that handsome young man who acts as 
your squire, now your lord is gone.” 

“What! Oh, how can you be so wicked?” cried Violet, 
rising. 

“Do not be angry,” said Helen, seizing her dress to draw 
her back. “ I only meant friendly or brotherly love, of 
course. So you would mourn if you lost the love of your 
poodle or the cat. Why so quick to take otfense? Is it 
not true that you desire every face to light that looks at 
you — that all should joy at your coming and grieve at your 
going?” 

Violet looked down, blushing and resentful. 

“You think that a great weakness,” she said, slowly. 

“ Ho; it is lovely. If I had had more of that quality, I 
might have been more beloved. Do not be angry at me. I 
want you to think well of me. Do not misjudge me. Let 
me tell you of myself. You think it was all mercenary am- 
bition that drew me to Lord Leigh. You never imag- 
ined that back of my avarice and ambition lay the 
thought of a good, warm, self-devoting mother, to be cared 
for in her old age — of a little sister, lovely as a fairy, to be 
educated and made happy, and saved from the drudgery of 
a life like mine. I wanted to be the Lady Bountiful to all 
my poor relations and friends. I, who knew so well the 


’8 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS, 


sting of penury, wanted to have opportunity to do good. 
Oh, how lavish I could have been in answering the cry of 
need! Do you know how n^ny young girls are dying by 
inches of overwork — to how many a helping hand would be 
salvation for body and soul?” 

Violet’s anger vanished. She thought she had misjudged 
Helen Hope. Helen put into her false words an earnestness 
that Violet took for truth and feeling. 

“ Let me do these things,” she said. “Let me help you 
to do good. May I not help your mother and sister, too?” 

“No, no,” said Helen. “ I will work for them; but you 
can help others. But have you forgotten that your husband 
has bidden you to cast me out?” 

Violet started. What should she do? 

“ I know he said so. Should I obey him blindly, when 
he ” 

“ Loves me not,” came the sharp, clear voice of the page, 
still counting his daisy rays. 

“ And I am so sorry,” said Helen, ignoring pause and 
page, “for I know what is in him. Though I love him, I 
know the error — yes, the crime, that he cherishes. I could 
help you if we might but be friends — help you meet your 
bitter fate.” 

“I have a friend to help me,” said Violet, “if I have 
need; and also God will help me. But I will not cast you 
out. I will be friends with you,” and she gave Helen Hope 
her hand. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“SAVE ME, I BEG OF YOU!” 

Six days had Norman Leigh been gone from Berne, and 
Violet was sitting alone on the balcony before her rooms in 
the Victoria Hotel, commanding the best view of the Alps. 

A hasty step crossed her drawing-room and fell on the 
balcony; an exclamation, “Oh, my lady!” and Adam, Lord 
Leigh’s valet, stood before her — Adam, who had gone to 
Homburg with Lord Leigh. 

So they had returned; her peaceful life was broken. 

“ What, Adam, are you back? Lord Leigh sent no 
word.” 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS . 


79 


“ My lady, I came alone. ” 

“ Where is my husband ?” 

“ Dear lady, he is in Homburg,” faltered the old man, 
for Adam was a gray-haired valet, formerly in the service of 
Norman Leigh's father. 

“Why have you left him?” she cried. 

“Oh, my lady,” said Adam, in a low, vehement voice, 
drawing near to her in the moonlight, “he is in fearful 
danger, and I have come for you to save him.” 

“Danger! What danger? What do you. mean? Is he 
ill?” 

“Must your heart be broken?” said Adam, reluctantly. 

“ I think nothing that you can say will break my heart,” 
faltered Violet. 

Adam was close at her side; his head, that needed no 
powder to whiten it, was bent on his breast, and his stal- 
wart, north-country figure shook as he spoke. 

“ Lady Leigh, I love your husband, not only as a servant 
loves his lord, but as a father loves his son. Boy and man, 
I have been true to him, and I promised his father on his 
dying bed that I would follow him everywhere, and save 
him if I could from his besetting sin. Oh, my lady, how I 
have tried to keep that promise! Do you know what that 
sin is, my mistress?” 

“ No,” groaned Violet. “ Say all you must, Adam.” 

“ He is a master-hand at keeping things,^' sighed Adam. 
“Lady Leigh, he — gambles.” 

“What!” cried Violet, “have I married a gambler ?” 

A moan from the old man was her only answer. 

“And you moan that he is at Homburg — gambling 
now?” 

“ Mistress, I do.” 

“ Let him go his own way,” cried Violet, madly. 

“ Lady, dear mistress, hear me,” pleaded old Adam. “ I 
must speak terrible things. What with gaming debts and 
speculation he was near to ruin; but he married you. With 
the money of yours put in his hands, debts and mortgages 
were cleared, and money is assured for restoring the Tow- 
ers and improvements, and a round sum in hand at the 
bankers for him, and the thought, perhaps, of the great 
income that he has with you yearly, has set him wild again, 
my lady. He has forgotten his fright — oh, my lady, how 
can I tell you?— he has lost seventy thousand pounds these 


10 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


last fiVe days, and if something is not done, he will lose all 
he can lose, and be loaded with debt; he will be finally 
ruined.” 

Violet gave a low, agonized cry. 

“ He is having no luck; he never has,” said Adam. 

“Luck!” cried Violet, indignantly. “Who wishes for 
hi m the gambler’s luck or gains ? That hick is degradation. ” 

“ Yes, my lady; but remember, it is that accursed luck 
on the one hand, or deadly ruin on the other; there is no 
safe, good way in that life; and if he meets ruin now, how 
shall he be helped?” 

“It is true,” said Violet, icily, as to herself, “he cannot 
marry another heiress. Let him go his way.” 

“ Oh, my lady,” persisted Adam, “ you do not know what 
that way may be. He can go on to hopeless ruin, and then 
he can find at the end suicide, and the last Lord of Leigh 
can die in dishonor, and the old line will be ended.” 

“ To die in dishonor, or to live in dishonor!” exclaimed 
Violet. 

Adam threw himself on his knees and clutched the white, 
billowy garments stirred by the evening wind. Dry, hard 
sobs shook his frame; he moaned: 

“ Save him, my dearest lady, save my master!” 

“ Oh, Adam,” said Violet, bursting into plentiful tears, 
what can I do? How gladly would I save him, but I can- 
not.” «, 

“You must, my mistress, you must — he is your hus- 
band!” 

“ Tell me what to do, Adam,” said Violet, bending her 
child-like, tear-bathed face to the old servitor. “ I know 
my fate and honor are linked to his. I bear his name; I 
would do anything to save him; but I am so helpless. What 
shall I do?” 

“ Come with me to Homburg, my lady. It is for that I 
have returned,” cried Adam. “Come w T ith me; go with 
me even into that accursed gate of Hades, as if an angel 
stepped into the mouth of the pit to bring back a soul it 
loved. Get him but once outside those fatal doors, pray 
him by his old name, his line* his father’s memory, your 
love, by the little innocent babes that may be his some day, 
to leave that cruel town and go home with you to Leigh. 
Oh, lady, come with me. When he sees your lovelv face he 
will obey,” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


81 


Looking at the childish roundness of that soft face, at the 
dewy sweetness of those heavenly brown eyes, the kneeling 
servant coi^ld not imagine other than that her empire over 
his master should be absolute. 

“Adam,” she moaned, “I could do nothing; he would 
not come with me; he would only drive me away, and hate 
me for interfering. Oh, it would not do.” 

That changing, flushing, paling face seemed to Adam an 
irresistible argument; he insisted on his point. 

“ Lady, come with me, by this nights train. You will 
find him in the morning worn, exhausted, tremulous, de- 
spairing. You will come like an angel of hope and com- 
fort; you will lead him back to safety. What man would 
refuse a sweet young bride like you?” 

A wail broke from her against her will. 

“ He does not love me, Adam; he would not heed me; he 
would drive me away, and only hate me more /or having 
discovered this. Oh, why did you come to me?” 

“ For the last hope of saving my master,” said Adam, 
sturdily. “So that the name of Leigh shall not be 
scorned and scoffed, and that your fortune shall not be de- 
vastated, and your children shall not be beggars. My lady, 
don't resent, but pity him. He inherits this passion; it was 
born in him from his mother, my lady, and from her father. 
She was the daughter of an old army officer, who had 
ruined himself with gaming, and she lived on gaming until 
she married my lord's father. She had the beauty of Satan, 
as the French call it, and she led us a miserable life for five 
years, till she died, and left this passion in her son's blood. 
Oh, my lady, as by one woman the house of Leigh has 
fallen, and he has been destroyed, by you, dear lady, let it 
rise, and by you let him be saved.” 

Violet was sobbing wildly. She had thought the depth 
of woe reached on her wedding-day. She had found a 
deeper depth when she stood face to face with Kenneth 
Keith, and knew that he loved her and was lost to her. But 
now her woman's soul endured a fiercer agony, finding her 
fate bound to this gamester's, in whose veins ran the fierce 
and tainted blood of an adventuress mother. 

“ Lady, will you come with me to save him? It is but an 
hour before the train leaves. Oh, mistress, come!” 

Then Violet's shaken soul rose up to do her duty. 

“Adam,” she said, “ I cannot go, for it would be useless, 


82 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


but my husband shall be saved. Bring me that cloak that 
lies within the window, on the divan. Come with me now, 
through the garden and to the Bernerhof Hotel. There is 
one there who will save your master.” 

The bells of Berne were ringing midnight, when Lord 
Keith himself answered a knock at the door of his private 
parlor. He opened it, and there, pale, trembling, stood 
Violet, the bride of Leigh. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“I HA YE ONLY YOU TO HELP ME.” 

“Violet!” cried Lord Keith, so amazed at this unex- 
pected, lovely, but sad apparition that he did not for the 
instant see the tall figure looming behind her in the subdued 
lamplight of the hotel corridor. “Violet!” 

The little countess stepped back, and gave her attendant 
a pull at the sleeve. 

“ Tell him, Adam — tell him all. Only Lord Keith can 
help me. Only he can save my husband.” 

Old Adam stepped into the strong light, near the table 
where Lord Keith had been reading, and bent a searching 
look at the frank, manly face. 

Keith seated Violet in a great chair, and stood with his 
hand on the back of it, while Adam told his story. 

As the old man spoke, Violet’s head bent lower and lower, 
and to the covert of her velvet hood she added the shelter 
of her white, jeweled hands, to hide her blushing face. 
Adam ended in a silence that might be felt. 

„ Then suddenly Violet became heroic. She rose. 

“ Kenneth, I have only you in all the world to help me. 
You said you would be my brother. Go, save Norman, for 
he is my husband, and I cannot let him go to ruin. I dare 
not go to that wicked city. Go for me!” 

She held out both her hands in pleading, and he took 
them, and kissed them with tenderness. He answered the 
entreaty in those wistful eyes. 

“Yes, I will go. But I fear I can do little to help, 
Violet.” 

“ My lord/* said Adatfb “ I feel sure you can bring him 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


83 


back. Therejs strength in your face; and, my lord, there 
is no time to lose.” 

Kenneth turned, and picked up his hat and cloak. 

“I will go at once. We will see your mistress home on 
our way. 

He drew her hand through his arm, and, with Adam in 
attendance, they passed through the deserted streets, and 
were soon at the foot of the balcony stair leading to Violet's 
apartment. Kate was there, looking down into the garden 
for her mistress. 

Violet gave her hand to Keith, and all unconscious of 
her bewildering moonlight beauty, and of the tender pathos 
of that sweet, tremulous voice, that might unman any hero, 
said: 

“ God bless you, Kenneth. I have only you in all the 
world to help me. You will bring him back.” 

And then Kenneth Keith went forth from that fragrant 
garden, with its nightingales and roses, to crucify his own 
love and longing, and bring back the recreant, unworthy 
husband. 

If the secret of eternal love and perennial beauty is inca- 
pacity for feeling any emotion, it is a secret all unpossessed 
by the young Countess of Leigh. All her power of self- 
mastery is exhausted when she dismisses Kenneth with some 
semblance of calmness. After that she flies up the balcony 
steps and flings herself face downward on the first plush 
sofa that offers itself, and sobs like a heart-broken child. 

Kate stood by, astonished and alarmed at this ourburst. 

Suddenly Violet sat up and pushed back her wet hair, 
and turned a face like a rain drenched rose toward her hum- 
ble companion. 

“ Kate, Kate! I have no friend here but you. Tell me, is 
it very wicked for people, most miserable, wretched people, 
to kill themselves?” 

Kate flung herself at Violet's knees, and clasped the little 
hot hands. 

“ Oh, my own dear little lady, do not say, do not think 
such terrible things! Wicked, my own dear lady? It is 
most wicked — it is to destroy your soul.” 

“ But, Kate, it seems as if I could, not live any longer, 
and yet I cannot die. My breath won't stop. I am so 
miserable, and yet I am so young and strong. Oh, why am 


84 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


I so much more unhappy than other people? I am ruined, 
I am ruined!” 

“ What are you saying? You are wild, my little love,” 
sobbed poor Kate, clasping her lady’s knees. “What has 
happened? Where have you been?” 

“ Kate, I am ruined for this life, and I want to die. 
You will have to know, so I tell you — Adam came for me. 
Lord Leigh is at Homburg, gambling away all he has. I 
am married to a gambler! I have been to Lord Keith to go 
and bring him home, and save him for this time. But 
there will be other times and no one to go for him, and 
where will it end?” 

“ I don’t care where it ends for him!” said Kate, savagely, 
her heart rising in an intense relief. “ I wish it would end 
in his blowing his brains out, and leaving you free,” she 
added to her herself. Then aloud: “Don’t take on so, my 
lady. Don’t talk of dying, lady dear, cheer up!” 

And then the faithful Kate lifted Violet in her strong 
arms, and undressed her, brushed her brown rings of silken 
hair, and put her to bed, and until gray dawn sat near her, 
her heart answering to every plaintive sob and sigh that 
shook the prone figure of the little countess in her troubled 
sleep. 

Two days after there was the sound of arrival, and Violet 
ran out of her dressing-room to give the best welcome she 
might to her returned husband. His worn, haggard face 
and restless eyes touched her. She went up to him, and 
putting up a soft hand to lay on each of his cheeks, she 
said, gently: 

“ I am glad you'have come back, Norman!” 

“ So you’ve found out? More fool I!” he said, sulkily. 

“Let us forget it,” she said. “Let us think it a bad 
dream, and wake up to better things.” 

“Well, it’s dused good-natured of you to say so. Jove! 
I’d like to show you what I think of it!” 

“ So you can,” she said, leading him to a seat. “ Let us 
go to Leigh Towers — let us go home, Norman!” 

In what way Lord Keith had brought back to his duty 
the recreant Lord of Leigh, Violet did not know. Neither 
Keith nor Leigh said a word of that fatal visit to Homburg. 
But, uncongenial as the two men were by nature, an in- 
timacy suddenly rose between them; Keith made the ad- 
vances, and Leigh responded to them, surlily at first, as if 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


85 


thinking himself watched, and then more easily, feeling 
that the friendship of a man of unsullied honor and noble 
standing, such as Keith, would aid him in maintaining his 
social credit, and hiding his errors from the world. 

A million and a half of Violet's money had been so settled 
on herself and her children, that Leigh could only handle 
the income; and large as that was, and easy as the half 
million committed to himself had made him, Leigh knew 
that no fortune can defy the inroads made by a passion for 
gambling. 

Reason now warned him to retreat to the safe shelter of 
his country life with his bride, before he finally wrecked 
himself. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

KEITH'S TASK IS SET. 

“ Go home, Leigh," said Keith, echoing, unconsciously, 
the plea of Violet; “go home and interest yourself safely. 
Go amuse yourself by being the country magnate." 

“It would wear out in a season," said Leigh. “I can't 
live without excitement. I should go mad." 

“ You may find some excitement at Leigh Towers," 
said Keith, unaware that he was now unhappily among the 
prophets. 

“ Yes, I'll go home, but I know I'll break out again some 
way." 

“In that case," saith Keith, calmly, “if you must have 
excitement, don't find it at the green table. Warn me, and 
I'll take you off to shoot lions in Africa, or hunt elephants 
in India, or run away from tigers in Burmah — anything 
that will not disgrace your wife;" and a vision came to him 
of Leigh and himself lying dead on burning sands or in 
deep jungles, torn by fierce beasts or devoured by fever, 
and of two women who wept at home — his mother and 
Violet, the little Countess of Leigh. 

For Keith had taken up a work and meant to perform it 
to the end. He meant to save Violet and shield her from 
destruction, by guarding and rescuing her husband. 

She was going from his sight. He might never see her 
again — at least, long months might roll by, and what might 


86 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS . 


she not suffer in them? The word had been given out for 
their return. Keith would go with them as far as Dover, 
then pass on his way to his mother, while they went on to 
that blighted home destined to make England ring with its 
tragedies. 

“So you .are going home,” said Helen Hope, meeting 
Violet as she took a last ramble along the Aar. “ Think 
kindly of me there, will you? We shall meet again. When 
you can no longer help yourself, come to me; I will help 
you.” 

And Violet went her way, sure that she should never 
need Helen Hope. Had she not Kenneth Keith to help her? 

On the steamer to Dover, a tall, military man came up 
to Leigh and Violet, holding out his hand. 

“Surely I am to be introduced?” he said. 

“ Lady Leigh, allow me to present Colonel Hartington, 
my cousin.” 

“Three or four removes — so far, heir presumptive of 
Leigh, with a hope the usurers will not lend a hundred on; 
though, Leigh, if you'd give me your photograph to carry 
round, I might have more chance.” 

With this double fling, the colonel walked off. 

“ Who is that detestable man?” asked Violet, turning her 
crimsoned face to her husband. 

“My dearest enemy and nearest male relation, heir to 
Leigh, if I had no son — hates me, and I hate him.” 

“ So would any one. What a cruel, sardonic face.” 

Dover, and the hour for parting with Keith. He stood 
in the private parlor engaged by Lord Leigh, and held out 
his hand to Violet. They were alone. 

“ Look at me kindly as you go,” she said,, calm from very 
excess of feeling. “ Thank you, oh, thank you, for how 
good you have been to me, and do not hate me, for I am 
very unhappy.” 

“Happiness will come,” he said, kissed her hand, was 
gone. 

But, oh, how very far off lay happiness from Violet, to be 
sought through what burning desert of pain! 

‘The journey ended, and Leigh Towers reached at last. 

There are arches of flowers, and a roar of welcomes, and 
servants in new gowns and new liveries, drawn up in file, 
and all the castle is splendid in gala dress to welcome the 
most unhappy of all the brides of Leigh. 


A. HEART'S BITTERNESS , . 


87 


On that day* glorious at Leigh Towers for the bringing 
home of Norman Leigh's bride, there was a tenantry dinner 
at three o'clock. After lunch, Violet accompanied Lord 
Leigh to the great dining hall to see the tenants. 

Leaning on her husband's arm, clad in the soft gray of 
falling evening, where her youthful bloom and the flush of 
her roses lent the pink tints of the flying sunset, and her 
lovely eyes seemed as if the first stars that look out in the 
night, Violet had not circled the board of feasting before 
the hearts of all, men and women, were at her feet. For 
the rest of that day, and for many other days, the chief talk 
on the Leigh estates was of the bride. 

Somewhat cheerful she went to Kate to be dressed for din- 
ner. 

Sensitive as an iEolian harp to every breath about her, 
Violet responded to joy when joy surrounded her, and 
standing among the guests who thronged the splendid halls 
which owned her mistress, smiles wreathed her lovely red 
mouth, dimpled her round, smooth cheeks, and lurked in 
the velvety brownness- of her innocent eyes. The ball-room 
and the reception rooms were bowers of fragrant bloom, 
the halls, and corridors, and splendid apartments, all richly 
renovated, quivered with light, and the sweet air shook 
with music, while among lovely, and noble, and richly clad 
guests, gleaming in ancestral jewels, moved none lovelier 
than the Bride of Leigh. 

But suddenly her sensitive soul caught a new alarm. 
She was standing near a refined, elderly lady, of good 
family and moderate means, who had been introduced 
to her as Miss Whately. Violet, with her natural instinct 
of making herself agreeable, was giving a few of her sweet 
looks and words to the stranger, when she said: 

“ All of us in this immediate neighborhood are rather old 
to be your companions. Lady Leigh, but I expect to have 
with me, in a day or two, my niece, Miss Ambrose, and I 
hope you will enjoy her society; she is beautiful and accom- 
plished. Lord Leigh, I believe, knows her well." 

Had a serpent started up from the floor at her feet 
Violet could not have felt a sharper start of fear. Miss 
Ambrose! The name was wedded to the agony of that 
wretched hour when Leigh's faithlessness had been revealed 
to her. Violet, as all those with a strong craving for 
universal love and commendation, was of a jealous nature. 


88 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 

She had heard of the marvelous, and to her, fatal beauty 
of the rector’s daughter; and now they would be set face to 
face.. 

During the first few days after the return. Lord Leigh es- 
corted the bride over all his estates. On horseback or in 
the landau, they viewed farms, villages, dower houses, 
mill properties, churches, school-houses, cottages, moor- 
lands, running streams, great corn-lands. Everywhere, at 
leafy lane or rosy covert, or daisy-strewn dell, or village 
street, Violet looked for the fair woman whom she feared, 
and found her not. 

Not thus was Norman Leigh to meet her who only had 
roused in his selfish heart some semblance of true love. 

But one summer evening, on the verge of his estates, 
beyond the deer park, as he lounged idly along alone, he 
saw the sunset falling between the beach stems and illumi- 
nating a slender shape in white, a face heavenly fair up- 
lifted as she listened to a bird’s vespers; the glory of her hair 
falling like a golden shower over her shoulders, lips parted, 
and white hands raised as a sibyl’s, her little foot poised on 
the velvet sod, seeming hardly of this earth earthy, and, 
alas, to his utter ruin, his whole soul went forth to worship 
at her altar. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“I WILL NOT HAVE HER UNDER MY ROOF.” 

When, two years before, Norman had first met Edna 
Ambrose, and for a year had followed her as a lover, his 
heart had been distracted by the passion for play, and the 
terrible and dangerous position in which it had brought 
him. His own jeopardy had hindered his tasting love with 
more than half his mind. But now, through Violet’s for- 
tune, he was freed from all debts and embarrassments; he 
was, for the time being, satiated with his play at Homburg, 
and removed from temptations to gambling in the security 
of Leigh Towers; and that disastrous craving for excite- 
ment, usually centered on the green table, now leaped forth 
in the direction of a renewed and intensified passion for 
Miss Ambrose. 

In the year since he had seen her, Miss Ambrose had 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


89 


indeed increased in beauty, arriving at a wonderful perfec- 
tion of loveliness, which a little later made her famous in 
all England. 

She stood there “ under the greenwood tree,” quite un- 
conscious of the nearness of her former lover — calm, sweet, 
serenely happy, angelically good, and as he looked at her a 
mighty whirlwind of passion swept over him and carried 
him away. . How it came to pass he did not know. He 
had always preferred her to others, and her image dwelt 
apart in his soul, as an inestimable, resigned good. He had 
preferred her to others, hut not to himself. How his whole 
heart was at her feet with a reckless adoration that would 
give himself and all that he had for her, and she was a good 
no longer resigned, but furiously longed for. 

He had lounged down along that woodland walk, idle, 
careless, bored by his safe, tranquil environment; and in 
one wild instant, by one look, volcano fires had been kin- 
dled, heart, soul, brain, burned in maddening flame. In 
five short minutes, the heavens and the earth had changed 
for him; he turned deadly white, his frame trembled, an 
ardor of love seized and enthralled him; that celestial face, 
half turned away, dazzled his eyes like the glory of the sun. 
As many another man since the world began, looking on a 
woman's face, he went wild, mad for it, and swayed by 
fierce passions, and dominated by bitter pain, both the pain 
and passion to be his until the terrible end, he gazed, pant- 
ing, fascinated on that peerless face. 

Absolutely, for the instant, he could neither move nor 
speak to break the mighty spell that held him. 

The bird's song ceased; Edna, with a sigh of deep con- 
tent, stooped to pluck a lily blooming at her feet. And 
then her name was uttered in a longing, ardent cry, and he 
sprang toward her. 

“Edna, Edna! — look at me, speak to me!” 

She turned, tranquil as a moon shedding glory from Julie 
night skies. She held out one white hand. 

“ Is it you, Norman — Lord Leigh? Welcome home, and 
many wishes for happiness in your new life.” 

“Is that all you can say to me, Edna?” he gasped, in a 
stifled voice. 

“All? What more could I say, since I have not seen 
your wife? But then I have heard of her — that she is all 


90 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


that is fair, and innocent, and sweet. She will make your 
life happy, I am sure.” 

“ Once,” burst out Norman Leigh, “ the dream of my 
life was to be happy with you! Oh, Edna, what shall I 
say?” 

“You need say nothing,” said Edna, looking at him 
with calm eyes of heavenly blue. “ I did not hold you 
bound. You say truly — it was a dream. It has passed, 
and we are both awake, both content.” 

“ How can I tell you? — how explain?” faltered Leigh. 

“ Do not try,” said Edna. “ My father forbade an en- 
gagement, until you could have time to know your mind. 
He was right, as he always was; and when you knew your 
mind, it was for this lovely lady whom you have married. 
Do not think you owe me any apologies. My father was 
more than right; our rank was too unequal, and I was too 
young. I, too, woke to know I did not really love ” 

“Not love me, Edna?” cried Norman, passionately. 

“Not with a love that should last a life; but as a friend, 
a sister, I can care for you still. To me, you and your 
fate will ever be dear, and I hope your wife also will be 
dear to me. Is not that well?” 

She gave him her hand, with an angelic smile. 

The cool, calm touch of that dainty palm recalled Leigh 
to himself. He was a man wonderfully skilled in control- 
ling an exhibition of his emotions. Habituated to wear a 
mask, he now swiftly realized that he must hide from 
Edna this fury of love for her, or with indignant wrath 
she would drive him from her forever. 

With iron force he crushed down his emotions, and so 
mastered himself that he could hold that lovely little hand 
quietly in his own and say: 

“ I have no words to thank you for your graciousness 
and forgiveness. If you scorned and hated me, you would 
feel only what I feel for myself, added to the bitter 
assurance that in you I lost the sole hope of the happiness of 
my life. I cannot tell you how I was driven on, by what 
difficulties dragged into a seeming forsaking of one who 
will forever hold a sacred place in my heart. Your 
kindness now restores me more of happiness than I ever 
expected to know again.” 

“You were not pledged to me,” said Edna; “and do 
you know, as I have grown in years and experience since 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


91 


we met, I think the love I had for you was but a child’s 
fancy, after all? Let me be your sister, Norman, and we 
shall better than reach our early dream.” 

He bent to kiss the white, warm softness of the little 
hand she extended, and the touch thrilled him. Oh, could 
the future hold for him any possibility of making this 
divine creature his? Surely not, if now he alarmed her by 
proffer of forbidden passion. He must school himself to calm. 

“Edna, those days we spent together in Cornwall are the 
blessed memories of my life.” 

“ They were very sweet,” she said. “ I was a lonely girl, 
and it was so charming to have a friend like you, liking all 
I liked, giving me glimpses of a wider world.” 

“Let us renew those days here in Sussex,” he said. 
“We can renew the friendship and intercourse of the past. 
You shall be again my lovely friend.” 

“ And your wife’s,” said Edna. 

“Yes. We are to have some friends at the Towers. 1 
want a gay, bright party, full of joy and good-will. You 
will join them as our guest, will you not? You will have 
books, music, poetry, flowers, pictures, all that you love. 
We will crowd the days with festivities and rural excursions. 
You will not refuse me, Edna?” 

“ Certainly not, when your wife invites me. I should 
enjoy it of all things. I am resolved to love her.” 

“ She will come to see you at once,” said Leigh. 

To him the sound of Edna’s voice, the glance of her eyes, 
was a heaven undreamed of before. He thought he should 
be entirely happy meeting her in the daily life of his home. 
It remained but to cover his mad wish for her presence by 
inviting a party. 

Next day he said to Violet: 

“ I fear we shall grow dull here. I need stimulus — so- 
ciety. Let us ask Tom Churchill and Grace F.anshaw for a 
visit.” 

“ Oh, I shall be so glad to have them,” said Violet. 

“And Keith and his mother.” 

“No, no,” said Violet, in afright. “No, they cannot 
come. They must stay at the castle for a while.” 

“All right. We must have some one to matronize the 
party. You are too young for a chaperon. What do you 
say to giving a welcome here to your Aunt Ainslie and your 
cousins?” 


92 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


“ I would like that/" said Violet, with grateful memories 
of her loving aunt. 

“ And Lady Jane, and Gore, and Sir Hugh Hunter; and, 
Violet, let us ask Lady Clare, and my Cousin Hartington, 
and make a match between them.” 

Violet laughed. 

“ He hates you and she hates me.” 

“ So much more likely to love each other, then. He is 
rich. Set them down on your list. We need one more. I 
want you to call on and invite a nice young lady from near 
here — Miss Ambrose.” 

Violet started as if a thunderbolt had fallen. Her whole 
soul rose up in arms, and she cried, wildly: 

“I will not have that woman in my house!” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“no! ten times no!” 

A white fury came into Norman Leigh’s face at his wife’s 
emphatic words. Until now he had been merely indiffer- 
ent to her — at intervals feebly grateful — though 'intense 
selfishness, taking all things as its due, has small capacity 
for gratitude. But at this moment Violet came between 
him and his desire — between him and the woman whom he 
loved — and for an instant he hated her. 

“What do you mean?” he cried; “ for what reason do you 
refuse to entertain my guest?” 

Violet looked down. She could not, she would not, give 
the real reason. She said, coldly: 

“ I will not entertain strangers. There are enough guests 
whom I know.” 

“ But it is your duty to receive and entertain my friends 
in my house.” 

Violet looked at him fixedly. 

“In this case, no; ten times no!” she said, with indig- 
nation. 

“ But, I tell you, Miss Ambrose shall be invited by you.” 

“Never! If you invite her, and she is so lost to good 
breeding as to come unasked by the lady of the house, I 
shall leave the house, and visit elsewhere.” 

“I will not permit it!” cried Leigh, stamping in fury. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


93 


“ At least, you cannot make me leave my room, and I 
warn you I will stay there.” 

They looked furiously at each other. Violet turned, and 
ran up to her boudoir, where she locked herself in, and 
flung herself on a sofa, and began to cry piteously. Leigh 
dashed out of the library window, and betook himself to 
the woods, in a heat of rage, muttering bitter words. 

“ It was just seven weeks since these two had stood before 
God’s altar, with vows to love, honor, cherish, obey. 

The tempest of her tears passed away; Violet began to re- 
view her conduct; she reproached herself for her methods, 
but believed she was right in principle. Iustinctively, she 
felt that all these invitations were a cover to that to Miss 
Ambrose, and that Leigh asked Miss Ambrose because he 
loved her, preferred her to his wife. Rashly, perhaps not 
unnaturally, Violet believed that Miss Ambrose shared this 
love, and favored his intercourse. In such a case, the in- 
vitation was a cruel insult to herself, and the jealous, love- 
craving child — spoiled, perhaps, by a life-long observance 
of her lightest wish — felt all the bitterest grief and indigna- 
tion of a wronged wife. 

Never, never, never, would she have anything to do with 
this fatal Miss Ambrose! 

But, in method, oh, how wrong she had been! 

Meanwhile, Leigh, in the excess of his rage at Violet’s 
defiance, tore blindly through the wood, yet, by some in- 
stinct, took paths that led him from his park to a little 
hazel coppice, through which rippled a silver stream — a 
quiet nook belonging to Miss Whateley’s small property, 
and lying just outside her humble rose garden. 

His heart had not misled him. Through the opening in 
the coppice lay exposed a sweep of the Sussex Wealdon, 
wide and hare, yet glowing in the tints of summer, and 
under the trees sat Edna, a block of paper on her knee, her 
color-box lying by her side, making a sketch of that fair 
perspective. 

Leigh, hot and breathless, dashed through the green 
shelter, and, flinging himself on the turf near her feet, hid 
his face against the folds of her soft draperies, and cried, 
passionately: 

“ Edna, Edna, why did I leave you?” 

She started with a troubled look, but, . dropping her 
brush, laid her gentle hand on his head, saying: 


94 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


“ Lord Leigh, what troubles you? What is it 

Lord Leigh reached up and seized the soft hand. 

“J am rewarded for my villainy. I married her for- 
tune. I hate my wife, and she hates me. Oh, why did I 
not face exposure and loss, and be a good man in the 
heaven of your guardianship?” 

“Norman,” said Edna, firmly, “if you speak such words 
I shall leave you, and never see you again. My wish is to 
help you, if I may. But I cannot listen to such words about 
the wife you married less than two months ago. She can 
have done nothing to deserve them.” 

“ She has — she defies me — she flatly refused to invite you 
to our house, or make your acquaintance.” 

“And since when,” said Edna, coolly resuming her 
brush, “ has a lady lost the right to choose her own society?” 

“But it is a wife’s duty to obey and please her husband.” 

“As I read life,” said Edna, “ marriage should be a field 
of mutual concessions. There should be a reciprocal study 
of each other’s tastes, and the husband, as oldest and 
strongest, should set this good example. Will you not 
tell me how my name came up, and this difficulty 
occurred ?” 

Her tranquil voice calmed Leigh’s storm. He related, 
with only a few accidental changes, the recent discussion 
with Violet. Edna looked him in the eyes and smiled. 

“ Foolish man, cannot you see what all that means ? 
This poor girl has heard something about my name in con- 
nection with yours — some garbled account. She is jealous, 
and you are angry at what is really a compliment to you— 
an earnest of her care for you. Let her alone about me. 
Do not vex her. In some way we two shall get acquainted, 
and I will love her, and make her love me, and I will see 
that she abandons this jealousy, having no cause, as you 
and I are but friends.” 

“Jealousy?” cried Leigh; “if she only knew how far 
below you her petty airs and contradictions make her 
look!” 

“If you think to please me by condemning your wife,” 
said Edna, with coldness, “you are mistaken. You will 
only cause me to bless heaven that I did not get a husband 
capable of forgetting his altar vows, and unconscious of 
what he owes to a woman who is one with him in his flesh 
and his interests,” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


95 


“ Edna, if you speak so ’coldly to me, look so coldly, you 
will drive me mad.” 

“ Norman, I remember our past with kindness. I desire 
to be your friend, sister, helper. I cannot easily forsake old 
attachments. I am faithful by nature. But if you use 
such language to me, I shall simply cease to see you.” 

“ I know,” cried Leigh, “ that you must think such words 
ill-fitted to a man, who, having protested love, and offered 
you marriage, left you suddenly, and, after two letters, gave 
no farther sign of remembrance, and in a year reappears 
before you married. Only let me speak this once. My vows 
of love were the real language of my soul. To marry you 
was my one desire. But I came home here at the call of 
my business man, and he showed me that I had unhappily 
reduced my affairs to complete wreck; that my estates were 
abominably incumbered; and that open disgrace was inevi- 
table within a year unless I repaired matters with a pro- 
digious sum. Marriage with a great heiress was my one 
refuge. Such a marriage I made. No doubt I sinned ir- 
retrievably.” 

“Not irretrievably, if you make a good, faithful, tender 
husband to the woman to whom you owe your safety. It 
is open to you to repair the past and be a worthy man. We 
are speaking plainly, Norman. After you left me I learned 
that when, two years ago, you had fallen in love at first 
sight with me, you obtained your end by pretending to 
to make love to Helen Hope, my governess. You played 
with her for your own ends, and wrecked her life in doing 
so; for she really loved you. She showed me your notes 
and gifts, and it was that that proved to me you were not 
the man I could love and honor as my husband. What 
you tell me now deepens that assurance, because by no good 
means can a man ruin such a fortune as you did.” 

“ No, it was by evil means; but you, angel of an Edna, 
could have saved me.” 

“And I can save you still,” she said, bending her heav- 
enly face toward him, and laying her hand on his shoulder. 
“ Whatever the faults and follies of the past, let me help 
you to forsake them; and believe me, the first step, on the 
way of return, is to love and cherish this fair young bride, 
who has no shelter but your heart.” 

Norman Leigh kissed her hand; she thought in acquies- 
cence. It was acquiescence compelled only by the assurance 


96 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


that if he did not seem to take the path of honor he must 
no more look on Edna Ambrose. And his whole soul cried 
out that he could not live away from her blessed presence 
— that rather than part from her he would die at her feet. 

“ Make peace with your wife, drop me from your discus- 
sions, and leave me to meet, and know, and win the love of 
Lady Leigh in my own fashion.” 

Under bonds of his instruction, Leigh met Violet at din- 
ner. She was pale and subdued, resolved but remorseful. 
He took the initiative. 

“Have you written those invitations, Violet?” 

“No; I did not know they were concluded on.” 

“ Let us write them after dinner, in the library?” 

“ I know I spoke too hastily this morning. I should 
have refused in some better way. I was very unamiable.” 

“So it appeared to me. But, of course, I don’t wish to 
govern your invitations. I don’t care a rush who comes or 
stays away.” 

Violet felt intensely ashamed. This remark set her clearly 
in the wrong. She blushed and faltered: 

“ I have been spoiled, I fear, Norman. I speak too 
hastily.” 

“Well, never mind. I dare say we are not of natures to 
live like two doves. Most matches have such differences in 
them. People, I fancy, don’t usually marry the ones best 
suited to them. We’ll rub on as easily as we can.” 

The invitations were written; but heavily on Violet’s 
soul lay Lord Leigh’s estimate of marriage, and the assu- 
rance of her own irreparable mistake, and her own forlorn 
condition. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“ YOU ARE THE HAPPIEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD.” 

A gray, elderly man, bowed as much with care as with 
age, was walking along a lane of the village of Leigh, when 
he heard the sound of a step on the turf behind him, and 
turned to see a gracious figure in blue cambric, a wide faille 
hat, trimmed with grass and daisies, and carrying a little 
basket. Recognition was mutual. 

“ Why, Adam!” cried the girl. 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


97 


“ Miss Ambrose!” faltered the old man. 

“ You seemed in a brown study, Adam. I hope nothing 
is wrong with you ?” 

“ It is the old story. Miss Ambrose — worry for my mas- 
ter. You know how it was in Cornwall. I had the care 
of a father rather than a servant. I’ve watched all his 
life.” 

“ Yes; I saw him the other day, Adam.” 

“Did you, madam?” cried Adam, eagerly. 

“And told him how happy I hoped he would be.” 

Adam saw no shadow of regret on the lovely, tranquil 
face. Sweet peace looked out of the sunny blue eyes, framed 
in the wreath of golden hair. 

“ But he is not happy. Miss Ambrose,” said Adam. “I 
speak out to you, because of the old time. I hoped things 
would go differently then, and he would find some one to save 
him. But it is not my lady’s fault; a sweeter, more inno- 
cent, forgiving young creature never lived. He has gone 
to London alone for two days, he says, and to bring back 
her aunt and cousins to see her. But I have no peace till I 
see him again. It is like old times to meet you tripping 
about with your little basket of good things to sick or poor, 
as you did in your father’s parish.” 

So Lord Leigh was absent! This, then, was a time when 
Edna might venture in his grounds and try to meet the 
lonely little wife. If they only could meet, she trusted to the 
mutual youth and tastes in common to bring them together. 
Edna Ambrose never met any one who turned coldly from 
her lovely face and sweet, earnest manner. 

That very afternoon she set out for a walk in Leigh 
Woods. Nearer and nearer the house she would draw — 
perhaps she would find the deserted mistress of the estab- 
lishment. Turning about a little wooded knoll where a 
cluster of beech trees cast a goodly shade, Edna saw a scar- 
let hammock swinging low between two trees, and beside 
it, sitting stiffly erect, a great mastiff — one of the famous 
dogs of Leigh. He held himself immovable, like a cast- 
iron dog set up in a garden in some excess of ill taste; but 
as Edna came softly near he wagged his tale a few times, 
by ^ay of recognition. All dogs loved Miss Ambrose. 

In the hammock lay a slender figure, dressed in white 
pique, trimmed with Irish point and scarlet knots of rib- 
bon. Violet was asleep. Her long, dark lashes swept her 


98 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


flushed, dimpled cheek; the brown rings of her hair were 
damp with the dews of slumber; her pretty, pathetic mouth, 
curved now for a smile, now for a sigh. 

Edna, looking at her child-like beauty, longed to gather 
her to her heart and implore her to be happy. She felt 
singularly drawn to this helpless lovely creature. Surely 
they could be friends, and she could help her in her peril- 
ous, thorny way. 

But a cloud moved across the face of the dreaming Vio- 
let; her red lips quivered. 

“ You don’t love me,” she sobbed. “You never loved 
me!” 

Edna drew back. She could not, a stranger, intrude on 
the unconscious revelations. Then Violet's hands were 
held out, as if searching for help, and she cried: 

“I dare not see you — I love you too well, my ” 

But Edna had stepped hastily beyond hearing of those 
murmurs. She did not wish to know of Violet more than 
the girl-wife voluntarily told her. As she withdrew into 
the wood, Kate, who had been for work, or a book, hastily 
returned, and her rushing step roused her mistress. 

Miss Ambrose feeling that Kate's presence would disturb 
the freedom of the interview she desired with Violet, with- 
drew, determined to find the little countess next day. 

But not the next day, nor for months after, did those two 
meet. During these months Edna carried in her heart a 
memory of the pretty young creature, tossing, and murmur- 
ing of her troubles, in her sleep. 

In spito of the fears of Violet, and of old Adam, Lord 
Leigh returned home safely, after two days, bringing with 
him Mrs. Ainslie and four of her girls, their ‘plans for a 
lengthened stay on the Continent having been abandoned 
in fear of an epidemic in Italy. 

Violet had feared that vexation at her refusal to receive 
Miss Ambrose might drive Norman back to his gaming- 
table, and she received him in the relief of her feelings with 
considerable affection. 

“ I knew you would be a model couple,” said Mrs. Ains- 
lie, beaming her joy, as Violet ran to embrace Lord Leigh. 

Neither of them guessed that a fair face in a glory of 
golden hair, the hope of hearing the melodious tones of a 
voice that had once spoken in love to him, of clasping a 
hand which voluntarily he had resigned, had brought Lord 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS, 


99 


Leigh home. The very coolness of Edna, and the frank- 
ness with which she condemned him, were added charms in 
the eyes of the young peer whose love advances had never 
been before coldly met by any one. 

The first real satisfaction of her married life came to Vio- 
let when she acted the part of hostess to her aunt and 
cousins, who arrived a few days before the other guests. 
Their unbounded admiration of her splendid home, Mrs. 
Ainslie’s awed rapture in the portrait gallery, where many 
generations of Leighs looked from the walls, wiled Violet 
from her sadness. 

They spent two or three days in looking at everything 
and exclaiming in admiration. 

“ Violet," cried Anna Ainslie, “you are the happiest wo- 
man in the world.” 

None of them thought that, possessed of such splendors, 
she could be otherwise than happy. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

LOST TO HIM FOREVER MORE. 

One by one the visitors gathered at Leigh Towers. Grace 
Fanshaw came, all eagerness to see her favor te friend, and 
to find that the omens of the wedding-day had proved false. 
Tom Churchill came, Grace being his lode-star, resolved to 
lay his heart and hand, and all that was his, at her feet be- 
fore they left the romantic environs of the Towers. Col- 
onel Hartington came, for the first time in years. In fact, 
the first time since he had quarreled with the late Lord 
Leigh, Hartington accusing young Norman of cheating at 
billiards, and thrashing him therefor. 

But before many days the keen eyes of Colonel Harting- 
ton and the motherly orbs of Mrs. Ainslie saw that all was 
not right between the young couple. So did others. 

Colonel Hartington noticed the coolness of the married 
pair — the shy sorrow of Violet, the indifference of Leigh — 
and hugged himself with the thought that he might be Earl 
of Leigh yet. 

But Mrs. Ainslie, direct of nature, went straight to 
Leigh. 

“ You ^nd Violet are not so happy as I thought you 


100 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


were. Fm afraid you don't understand the dear child. She 
looks sad and lonely. No one can make up to a young wo- 
man for her husband. I fear you don't pet her enough. 
She is used to being made much of." 

“Yes, I see she is a deal spoiled, and fond of her own 
way. She set herself up against some visitors I wanted, for 
one thing. And I don't like these martyr airs, for my part. 
If a lady has dislikes, she should keep them to herself. Per- 
haps you had better speak to her, to have a little more 
aplomb and dash — something beside those sudden starts and 
blushes, and wet eyes and longing looks." 

“Do you mean I am to find fault with Violet? I would 
not, for the world. I never did in my life." 

“ Not if she deserved it?" 

“ Certainly not. To begin, I would not believe she de- 
served it," said the loyal aunt. 

“ A man must be master in his own house," said Leigh. 
“ I wanted to ask a Miss Ambrose, and Violet flatly refused 
to have her." 

“Why, that's odd. Is she afraid of too many guests? 
Now, I wanted Lady Burton and Keith, and she refused 
me, too. I wanted to bring Keith and Anna together. You 
see the entire responsibility of these girls is on my hands. 
Mr. Ainslie says he cannot take care of girls' affairs; he 
only knows ledgers and the markets." 

“ See, now," said Leigh, always fond of intriguing for 
what he wanted. “ I'll try and manage to bring Keith and 
his mother here, and you must do as much for Miss Am- 
brose. She's in the neighborhood, and you'll make her ac- 
quaintance. I suppose the only trouble is a little jeal- 
ousy." 

“ Violet's mother was rather sensitive and queer, but I 
laid it to her blue blood, and I supposed you'd know how to 
manage such notions in Violet," said poor Mrs. Ainslie. 

But while these two were negotiating to betray her into 
receiving undesired guests, Violet, surrounded by the bright 
faces of her friends, her lately lonely home filled with 
laughter and song, returned herself to the smiles and cheer 
of six months before. Each morning she came into the 
breakfast-room fresh as a rose. 

Yet now and then the realization that Leigh did not care 
for her, that she was not the one dearest to any one of those 
about her, that she had no strong heart on which to lean, 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


101 


overcame her, and drove her from the gay group, and 
brought the ready tears. 

Grace Fanshaw found her thus in the conservatory, stand- 
ing in the tropic warmth of the orchid house, the marvel- 
ous, many-colored flowers blooming about her, splendid but 
scentless; and forced as her own life. 

Grace clasped her about the waist. 

“ Darling Violet, why are these tears in your eyes?” 

Violet broke from her, and ran into the next compart- 
ment. Grace followed her, and knelt before her, clasping 
her arms about her again. 

“Violet, tell me, are you happy?” 

But Violet caught great clusters of Jacqueminot and 
Rothschild roses and showered the vivid, fragrant petals 
over her kneeling friend, with a burst of laughter; then ran 
into the music-room and played Strauss* waltzes in a dash- 
ing, wild way, very different from the dreamy sweetness of 
her usual playing. And all that day she w r as very merry 
and bright among her friends. 

Grace Fanshaw forgot her fears, and was the liveliest of 
the group. After dinner she went out into the garden to 
get lilies with dew on them, “ to improve her beauty,” she 
said; “she was such a late sleeper, it was hopeless for her to 
think of getting morning dews.” When she came in, her 
charming little Psyche head, with its rings of yellow hair, 
was shining with dew. 

“ Oh, mamma,” she cried, “feel my head!” and, bending 
graciously, she extended the pretty pate to the maternal 
touch. “Violet, feel my head, how wet it is. Mrs. Ains- 
lie? I cannot leave you out of such a treat.” 

She was passing Lord Leigh, and full of mischief, she 
bowed the round-ringed crown before him. 

“You, too, my lord. 

With a laugh, he laid his fingers on the wet locks. His 
smile was full of admiration — as who could help admiring 
this fantastic, charming creature? 

Mrs. Ainslie suddenly awoke to a foolish fear. She went 
to Violet's room that night, and said, anxiously: 

“Why do you have that pretty, gay>Grace here? I be- 
lieve she is trying to flirt with your husband. You must 
look more to him, Violet. Fm sure he is getting in love 
with some one.” 

“Not getting ?” said Violet, turning white. “It is done. 


102 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


but it is not Grace Fanshaw. There, aunt, never speak of 
this again. I can bear my own burden till it kills me.” 

Poor Mrs. Ainslie cried heartily most of the night, and 
left her room late next day. Instead of finding Violet and 
her household shrouded in gloom, the good woman in the 
corridor met a “rabble rout” nearly as motley as that in 
Comus. The entire party were dressed in the ancient treas- 
ures of the Towers — court and wedding-suits of Lords and 
Dames of Leigh. 

Violet's hair was done a la Pompadour, and she wore a 
sliort-waisted, pillow-sleeved, long-trained robe of purple 
velvet, trimmed in gold lace. Grace Fanshaw was in the 
dimmed glories of a maid of honor of Elizabeth. Lord 
Leigh wore the black velvet suit in which one of his line 
went to welcome William of Orange. And Tom Churchill 
strutted about in the guise of a Leigh who went to France 
to convey over the luckless Henrietta. Others had come 
out in garments of different ages, and a troop of butterflies 
could not be brighter than they, as the sunshine poured 
over them when they rushed out on the terraces. 

A week of this masquerading and other entertainments, 
and one day Violet chanced to wander off alone toward the 
grand entrance gates. 

Along that very walk came swinging, with great, eager 
strides, Kenneth Keith. 

Violet's eyes were downcast, her heart absorbed in mus- 
ing. Kenneth saw her from afar in the flecking sunshine. 
This slender shape, silken and slippered, the trailing iris 
robe held up in one delicate hand, the head drooping a little 
on one side as a flower on its stem, soft perfumes stealing 
about her as she came — this was she, his Violet; but no y 
not his; gone into other and such unworthy keeping. Lost 
to him forevermore. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“THESE WORDS ARE AH IHSULT TO ME.” 

An open landau whirled past Lord Keith, and at the 
noise of wheels Violet looked up and met the loving smile 
of her friend Lady Burton. All her terror at seeing mother 
or son vanished at the sight of one who loved her so ten- 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


103 


derly and purely, and as the carriage stopped, and the 
footman let down the steps, Violet sprang into Lady Bur- 
ton’s arms. 

“ My sweet child,” said Lady Burton, gazing fondly 
at the lovely roseate face, “ I rejoice to see you looking so 
bright and well. Your husband wrote to me to come — said 
he thought you needed me— that you were not very well, 
and wero gloomy.” 

“ He was very kind to write to you.- I did not know of 
it. This is all a surprise to me — a delightful surprise — but 
you need not have believed that about my health, for I am 
always well.” 

(( Lord Leigh invited both myself and my son — I wrote 
you that Kenneth had returned — and Kenneth at first 
refused to come; but as I said I would not come with- 
out him, and we feared that you needed me, he came. 
Where is he? He walked from the gates. Oh, here, 
behind the carriage. My son, come and be presented to 
Lady Leigh,” 

Kenneth Keith stood upon the step of the landau; they 
were in a false position, but it was Violet’s place to speak. 
Violet held out her hand, her face crimson; it was at Lady 
Burton she looked. 

“We have met before; he was in Paris when we were, 
and ” 

“ Oh, that is delightful! I hope you liked each other.” 

“I had seen him before, too,” said Violet, bravely, 
“ and remembered him; and Leigh asked him to meet us in 
Switzerland.” 

“And we came to Dover in the same steamer,” said 
Keith. 

“ So, you see, we are old friends,” added Violet; and 
Keith took his place opposite her, and she sat by his 
mother’s side, and so they drove up to the entrance, and 
so they might have sat if they had been man and wife^-and 
not two cruelly sundered hearts. 

Lord Leigh had gone out on the terrace to wait for the 
landau which he had sent privately to the station, aiid 
meant to go and surprise Violet by his announcement of the 
arrivals. To his astonishment, she rode up with them, 
holding Lady Burton’s hand, smiling and happy. 

“ See what I did for your gratification,” he whispered, as 
the party alighted. 


104 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


Thank you — you are very good, Norman,” she said, 
softly. 

“ Then remember to be equally good to me.” 

“ I want to be good,” she said, looking wistfully into 
his eyes; won’t you help me — help me all the time, Nor- 
man ?” 

She pressed his arm gently with her little hand, and then 
took Lady Burton up to the rooms which the housekeeper 
at Lord Leigh’s order had made ready. 

All her gracious little duties as hostess — she left weightier 
matters to the housekeeper — the constant diversions de- 
vised by the young people, her own honest efforts to fix her 
thoughts and attentions on Norman and distract them from 
Kenneth, served to occupy and quiet the mind of the lovely 
little Countess of Leigh. It was Keith who suffered most 
during that visit at the Towers. 

The next day the indefatigable Mrs. Ainslie had arranged 
for the young people an excursion including a picnic in a 
supposed Druidical ruin. Anna rode well, and Anna and 
Keith, Grace and Churchill, Violet and Leigh were to 
ride, and the elders to go in a landau. Just at the last 
minute, Leigh proclaimed that “ he had a beastly head- 
ache and would not go,” and so sent his horse back to 
the stables. Keith, therefore, was left to escort Violet and 
Anna. 

The five on horseback reached the appointed spot, hut 
no carriages appeared with their seniors, servants, or pro- 
visions. Suddenly a great black cloud came tearing 
across the sky, and a tremendous crash of thunder woke 
the echoes. Violet’s timid, nervous Arabian, which 
being gentle had been left with the rein simply thrown 
over a furze bush, while the party made the pilgrimage of 
the ruins, flung up its slender head, with a shrill cry, and 
darted away, almost as swift as the lightning that followed 
the peal. 

Then the rain of that summer gust began to pour down. 
The five desolate equestrians endeavored to save themselves 
by crawling under the shelter of that three-legged stone 
table, called by courtesy a Druidical Altar, where in some 
fashion they might be sheltered. 

Tom Churchill, with a fine prevision of accidents, had 
carried a large soft Mexican poncho rolled up behind his 
saddle, and he wrapped this about Grace and Anna, and 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


105 


sat at their feet holding it, while the wicked wind and rain 
swirled in upon them, ruining Grace’s plumed hat, and 
reducing her yellow head to a state of detestable wetness. 

Keith had his own blue cloth cloak with him, and wanted 
to put it on Violet, but she shrank sensitively from it, and 
utterly refused. 

In a short time, from soaking rain and nervous excite- 
ment, she. was blue and chilled, and her teeth began to 
chatter, while her lips grew white. 

“ Lord Keith,” cried Grace, imperatively, “ don’t heed 
Violet’s words a second more, or she will die on your hands 
with a congestive chill. For pity’s sake, look at the child! 
Are you afraid to touch her? Wrap her up, and hold her 
tight in your arms, till she stops shaking. What are you 
thinking of?” 

Kenneth turned to Violet in sudden terror. How frail, 
and cold, and exhausted she looked! Obeying Grace’s 
commands, he folded the big plaid round and round Violet’s 
slender, shrinking, wet figure, and held her closely in his 
arms, drawing her almost unconscious head to the rest of 
his breast. She was too terrified and exhausted to remon- 
strate, for she had a constitutional terror of thunder-storms. 
Held closely protected, she began to grow warmer, and a 
faint color stole into her face. 

But the summer gust was over. The sun came out, the 
luncheon hour was long gone by, and no signs of the landau 
party. 

“ Something has happened to them,” said Grace. “ We 
must go back. No doubt we shall pick up their bones 
along the road.” 

“ But I have no horse,” said Violet. 

“ We must resort to ancient days, fair Chatelaine,” said 
Keith. “ My plaid, folded, shall make a pillow for you, 
and you must ride behind me on my gallant roan.” 

“I’d — rather ride behind — Anna,” faltered Violet. 

“ My goodness!” screamed Anna. “I wouldn’t for the 
world. Both our necks would be broken!” 

So the plaid was folded, and Violet rode home with her 
arms clasped about Keith, in such a terror of falling that 
she never knew how close was the pressure of her arms.. 

By night the party of the broken landau came igno- 
miniously home, in gigs hired at a country inn. 

And where had Leigh been on that eventful day? 


106 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


No sooner had the plumes of the riders, and the parti- 
colored parasols of the landau disappeared along the road, 
than his headache disappeared with them, and he made 
straight for the little villa of Miss Whately. 

The sound of a piano, softly played, led his steps to a 
window opening to the ground, and draped within with 
white lace, and . without with climbing roses in abundant 
bloom. In the cool and shaded apartment the graceful 
figure of Edna Ambrose, and the golden glory of her hair 
were seen. 

Leigh stood watching her for a few moments, until the 
mysterious consciousness of a fixed gaze drew the player to 
turn around, and she rose. 

“ Is Miss Whately at home? I have not had time until 
now to call upon my old friend,” said Leigh, smoothly. 

“ My aunt went to London this morning,” replied Edna. 

That was no news to Lord Leigh. It was the accidental 
hearing that Miss Whately had been seen buying a ticket 
for London at the station that morning which had given 
him his suddenly cured headache, and turned his feet to- 
ward Rose Lodge. When Edna answered him, he dropped 
uninvited into a chair, leaned back his head among the 
cushions, and said: 

“ How cool, and calm, and sweet it is here! so very much 
better than the Towers, with its lively crowd. Did you not 
meet some of our visitors the other day?” 

“ Yes; a most charming elderly lady; she saw me sketch- 
ing; and, though I am shy of strangers, she won me before 
I was aware. And then her son came up — a very handsome 
young man — a kingly Saxon. He should sit as a model for 
King Alfred’s youth.” 

' Leigh ground his teeth with rage. 

“ Don’t speak so!” he cried. “He may be dancing at- 
tendance on my wife, but I cannot hear you praising him. 
It drives me mad !” 

“I do not understand you,” said Edna, coldly. “May 
not a mere friend praise whom she pleases? And if he 
attends too closely on your wife, is it not that you abandon 
her to any attention that may come her way? Why are you 
not with that lovely young wife this minute?” 

“ Because I wanted to see you; because your voice is as 
music of heaven, and your face an angel’s to me. Oh, 
Edna, how much rather would I be living with you in such 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 10 ? 

a sweet, quiet home as this, than lord it at the Towers! 
Why, why have I lost you?” 

A noble indignation crimsoned Edna's face, and anger 
leaped from her blue eyes. 

“ These words are an insult to me. Leave me, Lord 
Leigh, and never venture into my presence again.” 

But while they had been speaking the sky had darkened, 
and now the thunder and lightning and flooding rain — 
which later in the morning swept on the party at the Druid 
ruins — broke over Rose Lodge. 

“You will not drive me out in the storm, will you?” said 
Leigh. 

“ No; but I can leave this room to you until the weather 
permits your departure.” 

She turned, offended, queenly; but Leigh, in a tempest 
of passion, flung himself at her feet, and seized her white 
robe in his eager, trembling hands. 

“Edna, do not leave me to ruin and despair! Stay where 
I can see you. Has love no claim? Does grief deserve no 
pity? Oh, cruel heart, to be deaf to love like mine!” 

He forgot how he had coldly scorned and rejected the 
equally passionate love of Helen Hope for himself. 

“Listen to me, Lord Leigh,” said Edna. “Less than 
three months the husband of the sweetest of women, your 
free choice, whose acceptance has saved you from ruin, you 
dare -insult me with protestations of your love! Heaven 
knows I never expected to fall so low as to hear such a 
shameful appeal as this! Every word you speak shows me 
that God was good when He kept me from being your wife. 
Listen. I shall leave this place, and go where I cannot see 
you or hear you. My indignation at you is only equaled 
by my compassion for your wife. If ever we meet again, it 
will only be because I see some way of helping and com- 
forting her. I have always loved art, and now that I have 
an ample fortune from my uncle, and from him a changed 
name, I shall go and pursue art with all my soul. For you, 
Norman, go and repent.” 

She wrested her garments from his grasp, and, darting 
from the room, closed the door behind her. 

When he heard her fleet foot rnnning up the stair, he 
dashed out in the storm, and, drenched and bare-headed, 
fled back to the Towers, and locked himself in his own 
apartment. His rebuffed love consumed him as a frenzy. 


108 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


Three days passed — days in which Leigh was sullen and 
retired, because he learned, through Adam’s chat, about the 
loss to the eottage people, that Miss Ambrose had gone 
away, not expecting to return. 

“And they do say,” continued Adam, “though, she’s 
not married, her name is changed, and she is Haviland, 
taking her uncle’s name, with his fortune.” 

During these da} r s Lady Clare arrived, and Colonel 
Hartington began to pay her attentions, which were amiably 
received. 

“ I don’t believe Leigh will live three years,” said Lady 
Clare, calmly regarding her former suitor, and summing up 
his life chances. “He looks consumed by some inward 
fury or fever. “ I may be Countess Leigh yet.” 

Grace and Sir Tom were also absorbed in each other. 
Grace had said “ Yes,” and she and Sir Tom seemed float- 
ing round in a heaven of happiness, like a pair of triumph- 
ant gods borne on rosy clouds. 

Volet was left usually to Kenneth Keith, with the sim- 
pering, undiscerning Anna for a third, about like a dummy 
at a game of cards. 

Very often Violet fled away, and left Keith to endure 
Anna’s smiles, and platitudes, and serene silences, alone. 
On such occasions she walked in the plantations by herself; 
and Keith, in terror lest some evil overtake her, would fol- 
low her ignorantly, and he himself her greatest danger. He 
found her so one day, sitting on a mossy bank, from which 
a beautiful wood-path opened. 

The pain she felt at seeing him stung Violet to brief 
anger. 

“ Why did you follow me? Why do you always follow 
me? I love to be alone.” 

“ It seems so lonesome, and perhaps hardly safe for 
you.” 

“Hot safe? Surely there can be no danger here and by 
day?” 

“Certainly not,” admitted Keith, “but it looks — so 
forlorn /” 

“And if I w r ish to be forlorn? — if it is my destiny?” 
cried Violet. “I hate being always followed. My aunt, 
and grandmother, and governess, always did it. Why are 
you acting just like them? Stay with Anna, and let me 
alone.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


109 


“ It is not prudent — nor proper,” began Keith, offended 
that his society was so evidently odious. 

“ It is a pity if I do not know what is prudent and 
proper, when I am nearly nineteen,” said Violet, contu- 
maciously. “Iam going to walk up this path, and I am 
going by myself!” and she rose, and walked her chosen 
way. 

Keith did not follow her. He sat plaiting grass, and 
writhing- with rage and mortification. He did not know 
exactly what amount of guardianship a pretty damsel 
needed. But when her olive-green gown, with its flutter- 
ing ribbons, had disappeared along the path, he felt he 
must not be too far from her. 

The path taken by Violet was deeply shaded, and on 
either side rose steep banks, crowned by thick copse, 
loved of rabbits. Lord Keith ascended the left- hand bank, 
and moved along above the path, but hidden by the bracken 
and' hazel bushes. He went in deep gloom, his head bent, 
his heart sore, and temper irritated, 

Violet pursued her elected path — finding it, for all its 
beauty, anything but pleasant. She had never been so un- 
happy in her life. The cruel bitterness hidden in her young 
heart sent a mist of tears across her wide, innocent eyes, 
and the woe welled over and ran down the pink and dim- 
pled cheeks. 

Both the honest young creatures were miserable following 
their divided ways. 

Finally Violet came to a granite column, almost as high 
as her shoulder. It had been a milestone years ago, when 
this lane was a frequented bridle-path. The top of the 
stone was covered with lichens, and a great striped snail was 
crawling over it. Violet stopped, with her hand on the 
stone, looking at its minute life of lichens and beetles — but 
seeing nothing clearly. 

Then she heard a fearful noise, between a howl, a cry, 
and a roar, and, looking up, saw a terrible creature rushing 
toward her. An enormous man, with ragged red hair and 
beard flying to the winds — eyes blood-shot, red, scintillating 
under bushy brows, a great row of white teeth, like fangs, 
glittering in his open mouth, head and feet bare, his body 
naked from the waist up — coming with long leaps, his arms 
held high, and both hands grasping the handle of a largo 


110 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


hatchet! This appalling figure whirled down upon the pal- 
lid little countess, screaming: 

“Die! witch, die!” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“WHY DID YOU NOT LET ME DIE?” 

Thus, like Iphigenia, with a “bright death glittering at 
her throat,” Violet saw no more. 

She was dimly conscious of a rush and crash in the 
bushes, that she was seized by the shoulder and flung back, 
and that before and above her, between her and death, stood 
the form of Kenneth Keith. 

In an instant, not being given to swooning, Violet col- 
lected herself to see the unarmed but well-knit figure of 
Lord Keith planted in the narrow space between herself and 
the maniac. Keith’s arms were crossed, his head thrown 
back; his eyes, steadfast and commanding, held the reluc- 
tant gaze of the man who through rum-madness had be- 
come a beast. How long he could so have dominated him 
cannot be told. 

Three men came dashing down the road, the first on 
horseback, who, suddenly flinging a broad leather band 
over the insane creature’s shoulders, jerked it back with 
a buckle, and had him firmly pinioned, the hatchet drop- 
ping at his feet. 

“ It’s Saunders, the smith, my lord,” cried ono of the 
men. “ He’s clean and forever out of his head along of 
drink. He got away from us while we was watching for 
this keeper to come carry he to ’sylum. He might have 
been the death of you and Lady Leigh.” 

Lord Keith said not a word; the peril to Violet had 
been so awful and imminent that he needed time to col- 
lect himself. 

Violet, still lying almost breathless on the turf, and un- 
able to believe in her sudden danger and escape, saw the 
three men carry off the shouting and rebelling Saunders, 
his burly strength, nurtured in the smithy, and now in- 
tensified by madness, threatening to overpower his captors. 

When he was finally taken round a turn in the road, 
Violet lifted herself up and shook the dust from her 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS . 


Ill 


dress. She did not see that Keith was pale and trem- 
bling so he could not even assist her; she only felt that 
she owed him her life, and she remembered that he had 
looked dangerously magnificent, standing before her and 
daring death for her sweet sake. Instead of gratitude, 
the wayward child was filled with rebellion, and her first 
articulate cry was: 

“ Why did you not let me die? I should by this time 
be done with it.” 

This base thanklessness stung Kenneth Keith to a pale 
fury. He simply stood and looked at her. 

Violet rushed on in her excitement: 

(( I am not happy; I would rather be dead!” 

But this hard injustice was foreign to her really sweet 
nature, and with the words on her lips, she took shame to 
herself for them. Dead? All her warm young life brutally 
put out in its dawn? And he — he might now be lying a 
bleeding corpse, smitten to death in her defense. She re- 
pented. 

“Oh, Lord Keith! what am I saying? You risked your 
life for vie! You might have been killed in my place!” 

“ I did my duty,” said Keith, in freezing tones. 

“ It is a pity you did.” 

“Why are you so averse to living?” cried Keith, in a 
fury. 

“ Because I am so unhappy,” said Violet, bitterly. 

“If you consider yourself unhappy, pray what am I?” 
said Keith, forgetting himself in foolish anger at Violet's 
contradictory conduct. 

“ I don't know what I think,” said Violet, bursting into 
a flood of tears; “only we can neither of us live forever; 
you and I will both be dead some day, and that is all we 
have to look for.” 

The wide, earnest gaze that Violet had for a moment 
fixed on Kenneth was drowned in tears. 

But only a noble, self-restrained, and trustworthy spirit 
looked at her out of Kenneth Keith's deep blue eyes. He 
stood in silence, waiting for her to grow calm; then he 
said: 

“Dear child, I hope the life that has been saved this 
hour will yet be filled with goodness and happiness. Let us 
go home.” 

He took the little hand, raised her to her feet, and draw- 


112 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


ing the trembling arm through his, turned their steps back 
toward the Towers. 

The sound of voices echoed through the woodlands, and 
Grace, Anna, Churchill, and Captain Gore appeared. As 
they were heard, Keith removed Violet's hand from his 
arm, and, gathering a flower from the path, began to study 
its structure as he' went on. 

“ Oh, are you here? Where have you been?" said Anna. 

“ Having an adveuture," said Kenneth, coolly. “ Lady 
Leigh was run at by a crazy man who threatened to kill her 
as she walked alone. I heard the noise of his threats and 
rushed up, but three keepers were after him, so all easily 
ended." 

“He would surely have murdered me if Lord Keith had 
not come up," said Violet, pale at the recollection. “ He 
need not make so light of it; he was very brave." 

“For mercy's sake, don't tell mamma," said Anna. “We 
shall none of us have any peace ever^after." 

“Tom, since all is over safely, I wish you and I had had 
the adventure," said Grace, “so that it might have ended 
as adventures should, by conferring on the knight-errant 
the hand of the distressed damsel." 

“ If it is necessary to your happiness, perhaps I can order 
up a crazy man. Keith, where is he? Do you think he 
would be let loose by his keepers for a consideration?" 

“ If you had seen how horrible it was," said Violet, 
“you could not jest over the affair. Just the thought of it 
makes me sick. Captain Gore, will you give me your arm 
to the house? Anna, I will leave you to entertain the 
knight-errant." 

“ That is a good name for Keith," said Captain Gore. 
“He is one of the manliest of men." 

The clock over the distant dairy struck. 

“ Why, it is past lunch-time," cried Violet. 

“ Did you not know it? We had come from lunch. If 
you and Leigh had been off together, we could say, ‘the 
presence of the beloved had made the time short.'" 

Violet flushed. Should the time ever come when evil 
tongues should make such flings about her and Keith. No, 
no; forbid it, Heaven! She was yet where she was safe, 
and she would assure her safety. 

“ Thank you for bringing me to the house," she said to 
Captain Gore. “ I shall go to my room until dinner." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


113 


She looked so wan and weary when she reached her room 
that Kate brought her a cup of tea, and then brushed out 
her silken rings of dark hair, and tied them back with a 
ribbon, and put on her white pique dressing-robe. 

“Now, leave me until time to dress for dinner,” Violet 
said to Kate. “ Do up my cream-colored silk with rose rib- 
bons. I shall wear it to-night. And get me pink gerani- 
ums from the conservatory to wear with it.” 

When Kate was shut up with her sewing, Violet stole 
softly from her room to the apartment of Lady Burton. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“HE IS THE ONE LOVE OF MY LIFE.” 

“ Come,” said Lady Burton, in response to Violet’s faint 
knock. 

She was lying on her sofa resting, and when the door 
swung open, and showed the little Countess of Leigh, pale as 
a snow-drop, clad in white, dark, nervous rings under her 
sweet brown eyes, the motherly arms of her friend were held 
out to her, and Violet, with a cry, sprang forward, and hid^ 
her face on the bosom of the one who truly loved her. 

Lady Burton softly stroked the silken hair, murmuring: 

“My darling, my dear little girl, what is grieving you?” 

With shrinking shame and sensitive self-scorn, Violet 
had been hiding her miserable story in her heart, and wear- 
ing smiles and cheerfulness, even in her saddest hours, un- 
til she had deceived Lady Burton herself. The hour for 
reserve was passed ; her womanly sense told her that safety 
now lay in this friend and counselor; but her only answer 
for a time was wretchedly sobbing in Lady Burton's arm$. 

“What is it?” said Lady Burton, caressingly. “What 
has troubled the lovely little chatelaine of the Towers? 
Have titles, and fortune, and happiness oppressed you, Vio- 
let?” 

“ Happiness! Oh, Lady Burton, I am the most misera- 
ble woman in the world. Who could be so wretched as I 
am?” 

“ Dear child, how little, it seems to me, you know of 
sorrow? What can I do for you, my darling?” 


114 A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 

“ You can go away. Oh, go, please go; leave the Towers 
this day, this hour.” 

“ Violet, have I grieved you in any way, that you wish 
me to leave you?” 

“You? Oh, no, Lady Burton; you only in all the world 
have seemed like a real mother to me. But you must go. 
Go, and take Lord Keith with you. Let nm never see him 
again. Never, never! Lady Burton, take him away, I be- 
seech you! I cannot endure the torture of his presence. 
He is the one love of my life; and — oh, I am married to an- 
other — to love Kenneth is a sin.” - 

Lady Burton turned deathly pale. She took Violet by 
the shoulders and held her back, scrutinizing the white, 
tear- wet face. 

“ What!” she cried; “has my son, whom I have reared to 
.be the soul of honor, come to his friend’s house and em- 
ployed his time in making love to his friend’s wife?” 

“No, no! Do not blame him; it is not Kenneth; it is 
all my fault, not his — only mine.” 

“ I do not understand. My poor child, what is this? 
Have you given your heart so easily, in these less than three 
weeks?” 

“Do not look at me so. Lady Burton. Help me, pity 
me. It is not in these weeks only that I have seen him. 
But four years ago — four years! for such six happy weeks, 
as never were lived anywhere else out of heaven. I knew 
him in Lincolnshire, and we loved, and promised each other 
to be true, and we were parted, and my grandmother came 
between, and made me think him false. Oh, Lady Bur- 
ton, how weak and faithless in Kenneth was my heart. I 
did not see him again until I was married. And I found 
he had loved me, and hoped for me, all that time. And 
then it was too late. I am Lord Leigh’s wife, and I must 
be a faithful wife until I die. And Lady Burton, how can 
I pray God f deliver me from temptation,” when I daily live 
in temptation?” 

“You are right, my own, sweet, noble love. We will 
go. I will spare you this, at least — the presence of the 
man you love. Oh, how wrong it was for him to come 
here.” 

“ Do not blame him, Lady Burton. From what Lord 
Leigh wrote, he feared I was ill and unhappy, and he could 
not stay away; he wanted to help me, to have you help me; 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS . 


116 


but the best help is for him to stay away. It is a comfort 
to me in all my sorrow to know that I have been loved by a 
good man like Kenneth; it makes me feel more sure of my- 
self, and I am resolved always to try to be good and noble, 
so he shall feel he was not mistaken in me. But, Lady 
Burton, do you think I must live years and years so unhap- 
pily? Will I live to suffer as long as you and my mother 
did? It seems that I am not so fearfully strong that sor- 
row will not be able to kill me qui6kly.” 

“ Dear Violet, neither grief nor joy kills the young 
quickly. Do not long for death. It makes my heart ache, 
and you so young and fair. Who can sympathize with you 
as well as I can? I have lived through a most unhappy 
marriage; but I found comfort in doing my duty, and my 
child came to console me and to give me something sweet 
to live for.” 

“But I shall never have that comfort, I fear,” said 
Violet. “ I am doomed not to be best loved where I can 
love.” 

“ Do not think that, dear. Your innocent life, your 
kindness, may be an inspiration to your husband; you may 
save him from evil ways, and win his love; and you know 
we are apt to love where we have benefited. When my 
Kenneth's father, on his death-bed, called me to him, and 
thanked me for all I had been to him, and said he had 
learned to appreciate and love me, then I felt repaid for 
what I had suffered.” 

“That can never be for me,” said Violet, “for Lord 
Leigh not only does not love me, but he does love some one 
else. I have heard her spoken of as a wonderful beauty. 
She lives near here. He wanted her invited here. Only 
think of that! Her name is Miss Ambrose.” 

“ Miss Ambrose?” cried Lady Burton, with a start. 

“ Yes. Do you know her?” 

Lady Burton was silent. Violet insisted: 

“ Tell me — have you ever seen her?” 

“Yes, I have,” said Lady Burton, reluctantly. 

“ And what was she like?” asked Violet, timidly. 

“ My dear, she is heavenly fair. She looks like a good, 
angel. I am sure she would be no source of danger or sor- 
row to you. She could never lure any man from duty, for 
if faces mean anything, hers means the noblest of minds, 
the purest of lives, the sweetest of natures.” 


116 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ That only shows how hopeless it is for me to expect 
to win enough of love or gratitude to have any influence. 
I must go through life lonely as I am. Oh, say that it will 
not last long!” 

“Dear, that will he as Heaven wills!” 

“After to-day I may never see you again much,” said 
Violet; “let me tell you how I love you, and how I wish I 
had been more under your guidance.” 

“ But surely we will meet, as ever. You must he in Lon- 
don next season; you must be presented in court— -that 
belongs to your position; and I am to present your friend, 
Grace, when your aunt, the Countess Montressor, presents 
you. You must take your place in the world, as here at the 
Towers, valiantly, if you mean to fight your battle well to 
the end. You are young; these new and changing scenes 
will help you.” 

“ I don't look forward at all,” said Violet; “I only take 
up day by day. And if I am in London, I shall meet — 
Kenneth. 

“Not often; and believe me, you need fear no more 
from him. He shall help you bury a love that fate has 
said must die. Give us until to-morrow morning to leave. 
When the letters come this evening, I will announce an im- 
mediate departure, and no comment will be excited.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE MOTTO OF THE KEITHS. 

Violet had gone back to her room, to try and rest her 
aching head, and calm her wildly beating heart, and drive 
away the traces of tears, so that she might quietly meet her 
friends at dinner. 

After a little time given to grief,, and musing on the 
blighted love of her son and Violet, Lady Burton went to 
Kenneth's room. 

The young man was sitting by his table, his head bent 
on his hands. 

His mother started as he lifted his face, and she saw how 
white and haggard it was. 

“Mother, I was coming to your room.” 

“ You wanted me, my dear?” 

“I wished to ask you to finish your visit here alone, for 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS . 


117 


I must leave here to-night, or to-morrow morning. Help 
me to go away without comment." 

His mother looked fixedly at him. He took her hand, 
and drew her toward the table near which he sat. Over 
it was spread a white silk kerchief. It was as if one had 
there hidden their dead, and sat down to weep beside the 
lifeless clay. 

He drew away the handkerchief. There on the table lay 
a little sheaf of notes, tied with a pink ribbon, that had 
bound a young giiTs hair, a curl of soft brown. Lady Bur- 
ton would have recognized one of Violet's silken rings any- 
where. A photograph of Violet, looking almost as now, in 
a white dress, with a full waist, and her hair over her 
shoulders; a few little trinkets. 

Kenneth Keith laid his head on his mother's arm, and 
said, simply: 

“ Mother, 1 am making the grave of my only love." 

“ You love Violet! My son, she has been with me and 
told mealL" 

“She has told you all — how we met in Lincolnshire?" 
said Kenneth. “ See, mother, there are the little notes she 
wrote me in those blessed days, tied with the ribbon that 
bound her lovely hair, the day she -found me sleeping in 
the wood. This silver bracelet, of India work, I took from 
her pretty dimpled wrist, and this little ring she gave me 
when I left her; but she would take none from me, for fear 
some one should find it. Poor child, neither she nor I 
noticed that it was a fatal, changeful opal, like our fate! 
This photograph she gave me in those days, and this brown 
curl from her dear little head. I shall burn the letters, the 
ribbon, and this crumpled glove. You will give her back 
the bracelet and the ring. But the picture and the curl I 
can neither find it in my heart to return, destroy, nor keep. 
You must take them, mother, until the day when this grief 
dies out of my heart, if it ever does." 

Lady Burton drew her son's head to her breast, and her 
tears fell on his hair like rain. 

“My son," said Lady Burton, at last, the motto of the 
Keiths is, Veritas Vincit — Truth Conquers. This includes 
all honor. A noble fidelity to virtue shall take the sting 
from this most unhappy love, and bring you, in someway 
which now I cannot see, to assured peace. To-morrow you 
and I leave here together. I cannot abandon you in your 


118 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS, 


sorrow; and to Violet I should only be a reminder of lost 
love. I will take these treasures that you commit to me, 
and lay them away as sacred memorials of one dead. And 
you are right to burn these other mementoes.” 

Keith gathered up the letters, ribbon, and glove, and a 
faded wild rose or two, and laying them on his hearth, lit 
them, kneeling, grimly watching until they were consumed; 
as one would kneel by an altar of sacrifice. 

“Kenneth,” said the mother, “Violet, in addition to 
other grief, has the belief that her husband loves an- 
other. That very Miss Ambrose-Haviland we met in the 
wood.” 

“ Such a divine creature could not have loved Leigh.” 

“ Only when very young, and misconceiving his char- 
acter. He is good-looking and plausible. But it seems to 
me, that in that girl, will somehow be help and comfort for 
Violet. I feel inclined to go and call on her, on some ex- 
cuse, and see where our way will lead.” 

“You cannot, she has gone. I met old Adam to-day, 
going to some poor family, whom he told me Miss Ambrose, 
or Haviland, had put in his care. He had said she had left 
here forever.” 

“ Gone! Then you may be sure it is from LeiglTs im- 
portunities!” 

“No doubt. Curse ” 

“Son!” his mother laid her hand on his mouth, “What- 
ever you suffer, keep yourself free from evil.” 

Great was the sorrow expressed at the Towers, when Lady 
Burton announced, that evening, that she and Lord Keith 
must leave the next morning. 

Shortly after breakfast, next day, the party at the 
Towers gathered on the terrace to “speed the parting 
guests,” Keith and his mother. Lord Leigh had said 
good-by at the breakfast table, pleading a pressing engage- 
ment. 

Violet bore up bravely to kiss her friend, Lady Burton, 
and give her little quivering hand to Keith. Both were 
deathly pale. They felt that they parted finally. 

“ Violet,” said Kenneth, in a whisper, “ I ask only one 
thing: If you are in any trouble, come to me as to a brother. 
Do you promise?” 

“ I shall come,” said Violet, lifting her sweet eyes. 

Was it a prophecy? 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


119 


They were gone. Around Violet Leigh the summer day 
grew dark. To hide from every eye she fled into the park, 
to a little hidden covert that she loved. She lay there, her 
face buried in the green moss. Some one, hurrying madly 
along, almost trod on her prostrate form, yet did not see 
her. 

It was Lord Leigh, blind with wrath and passion, com- 
ing from Rose Lodge, where he had been infuriated to find 
Edna gone, leaving no address. 

Ten minutes later, a step that had no sound came over 
the mosses, and a hand touched the shoulder of the pros- 
trate Violet. 

It was Helen Hope. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“I BOW TO MY FATE.” 

“ Why are you here?” cried Violet, angered and ashamed 
that any eye should witness her secret grief and battle. 

“ Do not be angry with me,” said Helen, sitting down by 
her, and taking her reluctant hand. “ I would like to 
comfort you. Do not mourn over a trifling quarrel; these 
things often happen, and are next day forgotten.” 

“ What do you mean?” said Violet. “ I have not quar- 
reled. I never quarrel.” 

Violet tried to rise and go back to her home and her 
guests. Helen's words had stopped the current of her woe 
and tears, not by consolation, but as a sharp frost stops the 
welling streams of the spring-time.” 

“ Don't go,” said Helen, holding her fast. “ I did not 
mean to offend you. My inference that jou were crying 
over a quarrel was most natural, as I saw your husband 
going away from this little lover's nook with a black cloud 
on his face.” 

“ My husband! He was not here.” 

“ Pardon me; he was — I saw him. I could have touched 
him.” 

“ But he has gone out from breakfast — on business.” 

“ Oh! So? Then perhaps it was not you with whom he 
quarreled, and you did not cause the black cloud.” 

“ You always puzzle me,” said Violet, fixing her ingenu- 


120 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS , 


ous eyes on Helen’s handsome, dark, but secret face. “ I 
never know just what you mean?” 

“ You force me to be very plain,” said Miss Hope, stead- 
ily. “ I consider that it is Miss Ambrose whom your hus- 
band met, and with whom he has quarreled. He has had 
an infatuation for her. I heard she was here, and of course 
they were meeting, and I came here to warn you; for, as I 
told you, I want to be your friend. I think you tried to be 
kind to me, and I am very sorry for you.” i 

“ If your feeling is so kind,” said Violet, “ I think your 
acts are very unfortunate. Surely you cannot make me 
more comfortable by coming to me with tales about Lord 
Leigh. If there are unpleasant things, that I cannot hin- 
der, it were much better that I had not known them. I 
do not expect to be happy, but I should like to be at 
peace.” 

“ And you would ignore your husband’s unfaithfulness!” 

“Hush!” said Violet, angrily. “You are now slander- 
ing. You are merely surmising. Surmise good, not evil, 
if you are a good woman! A man may surely renew an 
acquaintance without being accused of unfaithfulness.” 

“But what would you do if the accusation were true?” 
cried Helen, holding her fast by both hands. 

“ I would endure in silence,” said Violet, firmly. 

“ What! for a man who does not love you, whom you do 
not love? When you might free yourself by a divorce!” 

“Stop, wicked woman! Do you think for any cause I - 
would make my name, my home, the line I have entered, a 
cause for public scandal, the talk of all England? When 
nothing else is left me, I can at least patiently endure.” 

“ When you might free yourself, and marry one vou 
love?” 

“ Weak and foolish as I may be,” said Violet, rather to 
herself than to Helen, “ I should never fall so low as to des- 
ecrate marriage in that way. What you suggest is wicked, 
shameful.” 

“ And you are resolved nothing shall part you from Lord 
Leigh?” 

“ Nothing but death.” 

“ How noble and good you are! Forgive me; I was only 
testing you. You are quite right, you are angelic. Oh, 
how I wish that such sweetness and faith could save Lord 
Leigh! They could, if he loved you. But love was not in 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


121 


his view of marriage. The Lords of Leigh marry for 
money. Ail is to be sacrificed to that.” 

“ Oh, why will you come to me and talk so?” sobbed 
Violet, in a flood of tears. “ You drive me wild. Your 
wicked thoughts haunt me like demons. Leave me; never 
see me again; for whatever you say or make me think or 
feel, one thing I am resolved on — I will do my duty till I 
die. I admit that I am wretched; but I recognize the 
irrevocable vows I have taken. I bow to my fate.” 

“1 have not intended to hurt or vex you,” said Helen. 
“ I really meant to act as a friend. We -see these things 
differently. I truly think that where a pair are miserable 
together — where the husband is faithless, and the wife, if 
free, could make a marriage where she would be happy and 
good — then she had better get free by process of law. You 
differ. Very good. That ends it. I only wanted to aid 
you, and some one else, to happiness.” 

“ I think I had better never see you again,” said Violet. 
“ I think your views and words dangerous and wicked.” 

She turned away. Helen Hope stood, with folded arms, 
to watch her gliding, a slender white shape, through the 
green aisles of the park. Rebuffed for the present, she did 
not admit herself conquered, and made herself strong to 
wait and work — unhappily destined to bring a most awful 
tragedy on the line of Leigh. 

Violet meanwhile had had her thoughts diverted from 
her sorrow for Kenneth, the renunciation of his presence 
and friendship. The words of Helen had shown her that 
she stood in slippery places, and that danger was near. At 
whatever cost, she must make an effort to save herself and 
Lord Leigh, and bring about better relations between 
. them. 

As she resolved on this, she looked up, and saw her hus- 
band sitting on a garden chair, on a .shaded side of the ter- 
race, apparently reading, but with a black frown upon his 
face. The hour was ill chosen for confidence, but in her 
inexperience she did not see that. She went straight to 
him, and seating herself by his side, put her soft hand on 
his arm. Almost any man would have been moved to ten- 
V derness by the sad, appealing face, the confiding, sensitive 
manner, the dainty beauty of this young creature. Lord 
Leigh, however, was absorbed in a~mad memory of the lu- 
minous beauty of Edna. 


122 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“ Lord Keith and his mother left renewed good-by for 
you, Norman.” 

“ Yes? I bade them good-by at beakfast.” 

“ I shall miss them,” began Violet. 

“ You have company enough, madam, I should say. The 
house is filled with your guests,” retorted Leigh. 

“ I should not want any guests, if we could only be 
happy together, Norman,” she said, softly. “If I only 
knew how to make you happy — if you only would be fond 
of me ” 

“ What now!” said Leigh, harshly; “ don't you have all 
your own way? Are you not surrounded with splendor? 
What new gewgaws will you have? Shall I rebuild the 
Towers?” 

“It is not that, Norman,” said Violet, tears trembling 
on her long lashes. “You know I do not care for splen- 
dor. What I want is sympathy, kindness, love. If you 
only ” 

“Nonsense!” said Leigh. “What new whim is this? 
You don't want splendor? You want love in a cottage, I 
suppose ” 

“ I would rather have love in a cottage than a palace 
without love,” said Violet. “We promised to love each 
other, and we ought to try to do so. We are not trying, 
I'm afraid. Let us try to have more confidence — more 
love, that community of interest that we should have.” 

“ I'm not up to the sentimental flights,” retorted this 
man, who within a week had been pleading at Edna Am- 
brose's feet, that ? ‘love deserved response.” 

Violet fixed her sad, reproachful eyes on the hard, scowl- 
ing face of Leigh. But she would not be rebuked; she 
might win him to better things. She said, softly: 

“ Why should we spend our lives estranged and lonely, 
when we might be good, and happy, and helpful to each 
other? I see you are not happy; neither am I. Let us try 
and do better. Perhaps it is partly my fault; perhaps I did 
not try hard enough to please you when we were first mar- 
ried, when we were at Paris.” 

“I remember you did do me the honor to say I married 
you for your fortune,” said Leigh, sarcastically. 

“ Whatever I said that was wrong, forgive me. It is the 
misfortune of my life that I have had a fortune; it has made 
me suspicious. Let us forget all unkind words.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


123 


But since Leigh had fallen hack into such furious love 
for Edna, he was hard as adamant to poor Violet. 

“When we were married,” he said, “I thought there 
were some appearances to keep up. But some women are 
always bound to find out all that they had better not know. 
You listened to some gabbler on your marriage day — to old 
Adam, when he came from Homburg, and to that demon 
of a girl that you took for embroidery teacher. As far as 
we two are concerned, the mask has fallen: why put it on 
again?” 

“ It is true,” said Violet, deeply stung, “ that I am wiser 
than I was when I promised to marry you ” 

“ So? It is a new comment on the bliss of ignorance.” 

“And that we are wretched, and likely to remain 
wretched.” 

“ Like Eve, you have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, 
and your eyes have been opened more to evil than good. 
It remains for you to bear the consequences,” said Leigh, 
sharply. 

Violet drew herself up, a crimson flush covered her 
lovely, sorrowful face. She would not humble herself by 
further pleading with this hard man, and went to her room, 
cruelly stabbed by her husband, in a fashion of which the, 
law takes no cognizance. 

Kate looked at the haggard face and heavy eyes of her 
little mistress, and shook her head. 

“ You are the sweetest lady ” began Kate, but a 

knock at the door silenced her, and Mrs. Ainslie entered. 

The good lady was flushed and worried, and so evidently 
wished for conversation with her niece that Kate discreetly 
went away to her sewing. 

“ I think I must take the dear girls away, Violet,” said 
Mrs. Ainslie. “ I couldn't think of having Anna get en- 
gaged to Captain Gore, before she comes out even. With 
Keith it would have been different; that would have been a 
triumph! But Gore is getting too devoted. I consider it 
cruel of you to let Keith go as you did.” 

“Aunt,” said Violet, earnestly, “put Lord Keith out of 
your mind. I tell you, assuredly, that Anna has no pros- 
pect there at all, and Gore is a fine fellow, with enough to 
live on.” 

“ Is Keith engaged?” her aunt demanded. “ You would 
know from his mother.” 


124 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“No, not engaged; but, for some time at least, he will 
not think of loving any one; he loves, and has lost.” 

“Some foreign person?” said Mrs. Ainslie, eagerly. 
“Dead?” 

“ Dead — to him,” added Violet, with a sob under her 
breath. “ I only tell you, aunt, so that you will drop him 
out of your thoughts for Anna, and not stand in the way 
of an honest love. I see that Captain Gore likes her, and 
he is able to support her comfortably.” 

“ Well, Anna shall have her choice in society before she 
is entangled with Captain Gore, or any untitled man. I 
shall send her home to Lindenwood to-morrow or Saturday. 
I think Anna is very attractive. Don't you? Such a color! 
Such health! Such a laugh! She is as I was when I was 
young. Well, I. shall not pine over Keith, for there is the 
Marquis of Alwood; he is said to be the handsomest young 
man in England, and he will be a duke. Who knows? 
Anna may secure him.” 

In spite of her sorrow, her disgust, at such bold scheming, 
Violet could not forbear turning her head away to laugh. 
Alwood! Destined to become one of the first peers -of Eng- 
land! Alwood, in whose veins flowed the most ancient blood 
j^n the three kingdoms. Alwood's marriage plotted for 
m her dressing-room! It seemed simply amusing. Little 
did Violet think of what her share would be in Alwood's 
marriage. .. 

“Anna shall go home to-morrow,” said Mrs. Ainslie, 
firmly. 

Then Violet could not help laughing aloud. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

BESIDE THE BLACK POOL. 

The estates of Leigh were princely; they embraced half a 
county; near the Towers, together with properties acquired 
in other localities by purchase or marriage. Scenery, wood- 
land, and village, bright and dark, could be found in the 
wide domains of the Towers. 

There was one spot that was generally eschewed, it was so 
dark, so desolate, so weird, so uncanny, that it would seem 
only fit for the haunt of a morbid and unbalanced mind. It 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


125 


was the Black Pool. Beside it stood a singular little build- 
ing of two stories, each of one room, with a balcony jutting 
over the water. This building known as “ The EarFs 
Folly,” was gloomy and damp as its surroundings. Some- 
times for a decade no one entered “ The Folly,” and it was 
now falling into decay. 

Such a gloomy, ill-omened place, suited the wretched 
frame of Lord Norman LeiglPs spirit. 

Having rejected his wife’s advances, Leigh shut himself 
up in his retreat, sitting in the upper room of “ The 
Folly,” and moodily gazing at a spider weaving webs in a 
corner. 

One minute Leigh planned a search for Edna; then he 
lost himself in what might have been; then he considered 
whether he should go to the Continent, to a long round of 
those disastrous, deadly green tables. He would have gone 
at once, only there he was sure to discover nothing of Edna. 
Then he pondered whether he should take opiates and steep 
himself in wild unrealities. 

In this dangerous loneliness and treacherous self-tempt- 
ing he had remained over an hour, when he heard the lower 
door, which he had never found needful to lock, turn heavily 
on its hinges, and after a little pause a step, the trailing of 
a gown, a woman’s foot upon the stair. 

His first thought was that his wife had followed him to 
press her companionship upon him, and he sprang from his 
lounging attitude to close the door, which stood ajar, when 
it swung widely open, and on the threshold stood the fine, 
stately figure of Helen Hope, and her dark, handsome, fatal 
face turned to his own. 

With a muttered curse, he sank back into his place and 
stubbornly fixed his gaze on the floor. 

For three or four minutes the two remained^in this posi- 
tion, Leigh not giving way so much as to move an eyelid. 
Then Helen crossed the room with a swift step, knelt before 
him, laid her arms across his knees, and, bending her face 
to reach the glance of his eyes, said: 

“Look at me, Norman! Speak tome! Smile at me! 
Touch your lips to mine! For the sake of mercy, love 
me, for I am the one woman in all the world who loves you!” 

“ Leave me, girl!” said Leigh, angrily. “ With men the 
question is not so much whether they are loved as whether 
they love. Ho you fancy that I love you?” 


126 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“ You said you did once,” wailed Helen. 

“ I think not; you took too much for granted; your 
ambition misleading you. Why do you follow me?” 

“Because I loye you; because you are lonely, and no 
one else loves you, and out of sheer loneliness and grati- 
tude you will turn to me. Your wife does not love you; 
and Edna, that moonlight, cold, white creature, never 
did. Some small girlish fancy was once fed by your looks 
and words, but it died; she cares nothing for you. She 
has gone merely to get rid of you. Oh, turn to me!” 

“I would rather pursue Edna Ambrose, flying and scorn- 
ing me, than take the sweetest words of any other woman 
in the world,” said Leigh, madly. 

“It will be in vain, all in vain,” moaned Helen. “She 
will never marry you.” 

“Marry! Heavens! Do you forget I am bound hand 
and foot?” 

“ But there may be an end, even to marriage,” said Helen, 
frantically. “Your wife might die, or she — you — you 
might be divorced. Then you could marry one whose 
whole hope and thought would be to please you !” 

Leigh started as- if he had been stung. Then he said, 
in a frenzy: 

“Death! Divorce! Marriage! Fool, do you not see 
that these words only suggest to me the path open to 
Edna? She is to me as dew after burning noon, as the 
soft breeze after the breathless Sahara, as fair flowers after 
snow, as spring after winter, as peace after despair, as 
heaven after hell. But you, Helen — you are too much like 
my own goaded, mad, desperate self.” 

“If you were free — free, would you not marry me?” 

“Ho, no — by Heaven, no!” 

“What would you do?” cried Helen, seizing both his 
wrists. 

“ I would die at the feet of Edna Ambrose, unless she 
told me I might live for her.” 

“Why scorn me so? Am I not handsome, accom- 
plished, devoted — all that ” 

“ That befits a Lord of Leigh, ancestry and all?” sneered 
Leigh. 

“ Villain! I am your equal. I am good enough for you. 
I am as good as your mother. Am I more adventuress than 
she? I know the blood out of which you sprung.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


127 


u Good or bad, low or high, it is all one, as far as you 
are concerned. Your very pursuit sickens me. The more 
I see you, the more I loathe you." 

Helen sprang to her feet with a cry like the scream of 
some wounded wild creature. 

“ I will have my revenge,” she said. “ I will marry you, 
or die with you! I will bring you to my level somehow. 
Lord of Leigh, so all the world shall know. Beware a 
woman’s vengeance! It shall fall on you like lightning. 
From to-day 1 dedicate myself to such a pursuit that it shall 
end at your side — at the altar or the grave!” 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“HERE ARE THE PROOFS OF YOUR DISHONOR.” 

One by one, as birds migrate from summer homes, the 
guests of Leigh Towers departed, and Violet was alone, 
except for Mabel* and her governess, whose company she 
had begged of her Aunt Ainslie. 

Grace Fanshaw and Lady Clare Montressor were arrang- 
ing trousseaux, and the bridegrooms elect, Churchill and 
Hartington, had gone off with Lord Leigh to a little shoot- 
ing box he owned in the Highlands, to make havoc through 
October with the game. Violet was not asked to go. 

“ The box had no place,” said Leigh, “for women’s para- 
phernalia.” 

Gore went with them, and others were to meet them, 
alas, as Violet learned casually, two who were terribly given 
to gaming. 

“And there would be chance for a pot of thousands 
changing hands,” said Gore. 

Frantic with anxiety, Violet suddenly conceived the idea 
of appealing to Keith. She wrote him, under cover to 
Lady Burton, begging him to invite himself to the hunting 
party, and to watch over Leigh. The response was a tele- 
gram, received by Leigh the day before they departed, ask- 
ing if there was room at the “Box” to give Keith a season 
arn’ong the birds. 

“ I shall tell him to come,” said Leigh to Violet, handing 
her the dispatch. “You won’t be there to drive him off 
by your rebuffs, and, between us two, I feel surer of myself, 
and safer, with Keith, than without him.” 


128 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Violet said not a word. She was noticing the expression 
on Hartington's face, when he heard of Keith's request. 
Child as she was, that look was a revelation. She saw that 
Hartington had intended to lure Leigh on in gaming 
and drinking. An intense pity for this Leigh, with his 
strong hereditary passions, his Mephistopheles forever on 
the watch at his elbow, possessed the soul of Violet. Pity 
is akin to tenderness. She took Leigh's arm, and said: 

“ Let us walk out along the Elm avenue." 

He yielded to the guiding of her touch, and when they 
were alone under the grand arches of the elms, she said: 

“Norman, you are going away, and I do not want you to 
go feeling cold or angry with me. I wish to please you. 
Do not be offended with me about Lord Keith, or any one. 
I desire only to make you happy. Will you think of and 
write me when you are gone?" 

“I'm a dused bad hand at letter writing," said Leigh, 
“ but I may drop you a line. Yes, I shall certainly think 
of you, for you are, after all, a real good little creature, 
Violet, and make a man very little trouble." 

This was faint praise, but it was better than nothing. 

“Norman," said Violet, “I don't want to make you 
angry with any one, but — Colonel Hartington is not your 
friend." 

“ That is no news, my dear. I always knew that." 

“Is he your enemy?" 

“Most assuredly he is, and my rival." 

“My aunt says — that — he and Clare count already on 
your succession. They think you look but poorly." 

“ I hope to outlive them both!" cried Leigh; “ but, then, 
Violet, if you only had a son, their schemes would be 
knocked to pieces whether I lived or died. I say, Violet, 
you don't know how much I should care for you if you 
checkmated Hartington by a robust little Lord of Leigh." 

^Norman, Heaven may send us a blessing like that if 
He finds us worthy of it; but for the present let me tell you 
what I fear. I fear Colonel Hartington thinks that you 
can be tempted with cards and brandy, and he means to do 
it, and so help on your poor health, excite your nerves, 
spoil your sleep, wear you out. Now will you be on your 
guard against him? I saw a great deal in his face when he 
heard that telegram. He is sorry Keith will be there. He 
thinks Keith will advise you for your good." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 129 

“And, by Jove, Fll take Keith's advice against the 
colonel's any day, and outwit my good heir presumptive. 
He is older than I am by ten years. What is he counting 
on my death for, confound him." 

“ I shall feel much better, if I know you are to be safe, 
and look out for your health, and get the benefit of that 
bracing mountain air," said Violet. 

“Well, well. I'll do my best; and I'll meet you at your 
aunt's, for the holidays, at Lindenwood, or I'll be here by 
the first of December, and take you to Lindenwood." 

Thus Leigh and his friends set oif for the shooting box 
in the North, and Violet was left to herself in the great 
desolate, ancient mansion. 

What was her joy on the third day of her absolute reign, 
while she was trying by embroidery to while away the time, 
until Mabel and her governess were done with morning les- 
sons, to receive a letter from Lady Burton, saying that as 
she was alone, and her son had gone North, she would like 
to come to the Towers for a visit. 

Violet answered by a telegram, and could hardly wait the 
three days more until she might drive to the station to 
meet her best friend. 

A time of peace then came to the Countess of Leigh. 
Lady Burton scarcely ever mentioned Kenneth, or any 
thing that concerned him, except as she read aloud his very 
general and graphic letters, about their life at the “Box." 
There was much about Leigh in them, always anything 
that could be to Leigh's advantage. The breezy, healthful, 
simple life was described, and without those letters Violet 
would scarcely have known how her husband fared, for 
Leigh sent only a brief note at intervals of a fortnight 
or so. * 

The woods were thinned by the November winds when 
Lord Leigh came back to the Towers. Violet was alone 
when he came, and constant to her sweet endeavor to do 
her duty, and establish right feelings between them, she 
welcomed him with a warmth that even surprised herself. 

But after the pleasures of the chase and a lodge full of 
young men, with their active life and enjoyments, home 
palled speedily upon Leigh. There was nowhere in partic- 
ular for him to go before the wedding of Clare, and Miss 
Fanshaw, and soon Leigh had fallen back into his habit of 
retreating to that deadly haunt over the Black Pool. 


130 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


One day, after hours of pacing up and down the upper 
room, he flung himself upon a low lounge covered with 
leopard skins, and slept. He woke, roused by a light touch 
on his brow. The touch mingled with his dreams. 

“ Edna,” he said, “Edna, have I found you?" 

Then his eyes opened, and he lay looking wonderingly 
into the face bent over his. 

“Ho, no, you have not found Edna— you will never find 
Per — she has another lover; but I have none but you. It is 
I — Helen. Say you are glad to see me, Norman!" 

“ Here again! You haunt me, like the ghost of a crime!" 

“And am I not such to you? Was it not a crime to 
arouse all the love of a passionate, repressed heart that had 
never loved before; and when I adored you, to fling all my 
devotion back in my face with cruel mockery?" 

“ Love goes where it is sent," said Leigh, pushing her 
from him and rising up. You seem capable of doing any- 
thing to secure me; and you should understand how I 
would have done anything to secure Edna. Eor her I 
sought you, as my only avenue to her. You were blind in- 
deed not to see from the first that I had no serious inten- 
tions toward you." 

“ Why should I see that? Am I not accomplished be- 
yond most women, and does not my glass tell me I am 
handsomer than most?" 

“No doubt; but remember your birth. Who and what 
are you to mate with a Leigh?" 

“ Have a care, Norman. You fling my birth in my face; 
has it not stung me with scorpions since ever I knew how 
and why I differed from other people? Do you not know 
that in women, such as I am, love has a twin sister called 
hate, and devotion has another side— even revenge. Who 
and what are you, to boast over me? What blood was your 
mother, pray tell me?" 

“ Honest, at least, and her father an English officer, her 
mother of a family of rank. Silence, girl — am I to justify 
my lineage to you, a foundling?" 

Helen sprang to her feet, white with fury, and a scream 
of rage, a mad, inarticulate cry passed her lips. 

“I will bring your accursed pride to the ground!" she 
said, stamping with frenzy. “I will drag you down! I 
have been searching out the history of your family. Your 
mother was married ^ before she married Lord Leigh!" 


A HEART’S BITTERNES3L 


131 


“ She was not!” 

“ She was! I have seen the record — married to an attor- 
ney in Ireland. How do you know that I cannot prove 
that she married your father while her first husband lived, 
or that you were the attorney's child? Do you not know 
how your cousin stands ready to seize your inheritance, and 
Lady Clare, who will soon be his wife, hates you, whom 
once she hoped to marry? And if I go to them with 
these suggestions, and tell what I know, will they not fill 
England with their clamor? If they do nflt unseat you, 
they will drag you and your family story forth, a target 
for the arrows of every tongue. I will go to them. As I 
cannot have love, I will have revenge. I will urge them to 
investigate your claim. I will dethrone you from this seat 
of Leigh, wherein you boast over me.” 

“You? Impossible! Who would listen to such frivo- 
lous suggestions, or heed your mad tale, or count you 
other than a crazed adventuress? Who would help you?” 

“/ would help her /” came a voice from the door- way. 

■ Lord Leigh and Helen turned simultaneously; a man of 
middle age — a short, spare, sinewy frame, bronzed face, 
keen eyes, shaggy.hair, and rough beard — stood looking 
eagerly, triumphantly at them both. There was a malign 
sparkle in his eye when it fell upon Leigh, and a strange 
leaping flame over his whole face, when he turned toward 
Helen. 

But the effect of his gaze on Helen was singular; she 
shuddered from head to foot, gave a low cry and averting 
her face, as if she could not look on him, she rushed past 
him and fled from “ The Earl's Folly.” 

One instant the stranger spread his hands, as if to detain 
her. Then he stayed himself and turned to Leigh. 

“Yes, I will help her. By Jove, a handsome woman 
shall not want a coadjutor, while Bart Kemp is above 
ground.” 

“And what has Bart Kemp to do with my affairs, or 
in my presence, uninvited? Out of here, and if you wish 
to see that mad girl, seek her!” 

“Business first,” said the stranger, coolly. “I introduce 
myself as your mother's step-son, by her first marriage with 
Bart Kemp, my father. A sort of brother I am, you see. 
Lord Leigh, and evidently not welcome.” 

“You are a vile impostor.” 


132 


A HEART’ 8 BITTERNESS. 


“ Not a bit of it. I have 



>ers to prove all I say. So 


you didn’t know she had been Mrs. Kemp? Odd that the 
handsome woman and I are on the same track. We’ll hunt 
you together, unless yon buy us off.” 

“Buy you off!” thundered Leigh. “From and for 


what?” 


“It’s worth some thousands to remain Lord of Leigh, 
isn’t it?” 

“ That is my birthright.” 

“So? Possibly not. Suppose I prove that you are not 
of Leigh blood at all; or suppose, being Leigh, you are not 
a lawful Leigh?” 

“Never! I defy you!” 

“ Ah, let me read you an item or two.” 

The light in the room was waning; but the red sunset 
from behind the trees that hung darkling across the pool 
shot upward through the open windows, and dyed the ceil- 
ing red. The man, a fantastic being, in his suit of dark, 
large plaid, with much chain, several rings, and a conspicu- 
ous pin, skipped across the room, and upon the seat of the 
window, to bring himself into the strongest light, the sun- 
set glowing over and behind him in ominous blood-red, 
he drew from his breast-pocket two papers, and crying, 
“Here are the proofs of your dishonor!” waved them over 
his head. 

Leigh darted forward to wrest them from him. He felt 
sure he had not reached the window, nor touched his en- 
emy, when, like a flash, the man sank out of sight. There 
was no outcry, but the heavy fall of a body into the Black 
Pool. 

Leigh leaned far from the window, and saw only the wide 
turbid circles on the closing waters. His first impulse was 
to rescue the man. He dashed down the stairs, pulling off 
his coat as he went. But Helen, in her wild flight, had 
flung to the heavy ancient door, and the handle had so 
fixed itself that Leigh’s utmost power could not open it. 
He could not wrench open a casement, and, after some ten 
minutes of fruitless effort to release himself, he dashed 
back to the upper room, leaped from the rear window into 
an adjacent tree, and so reaching the ground, hurried to 
search for sign of the fallen man. 

He found nothing. As he came, so he had gone — in ab- 
solute mystery. The quieted waters told no tales, but over 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


133 


Norman Leigh’s spirit a terrible horror fell. Had he touched 
the man or not? Had he flung him to his death? Did he 
bear the brand of Cain? 

Lord Leigh felt like one in a continuous, terrible night- 
mare. The vision of that man sinking backward into 
empty space, uttering no cry, making no effort to stay his 
fall, and then the black, still waters sending widening cir- 
cles to the dark shore, and not even one bubble of breath 
coming up to tell of the life that had been, filled Norman 
Leigh with a sickening horror. 

What had been his part in this tragedy? He had felt full 
of fury, and sprang forward intent on seizing and rending 
away whatever papers the man held. Had he, in his fury, 
flung him from his precarious place? Had he been guilty 
of his death? 

His distress increased almost to a mania. He saw no 
more of Helen, could not learn that any one had seen the 
stranger, nor heard of him. He searched and sought all 
about the Pool, but found no sign of him who was possibly 
his victim. 

He sought to calm the tumult of his spirit by interesting 
himself in other things. He took refuge in the society of 
his wife; her innocence and gentleness soothed his per- 
turbed spirit. He now took her with him when he drove 
about the estate, and her presence seemed to exorcise the 
fiends that haunted his soul. Together they made a trip 
to London to order wedding-presents for Clare and Grace, 
and when the gifts came home, and Leigh looked on Clare’s 
diamonds glittering in their velvet bed, he suddenly said, 
bitterly: 

“ I know what piece of news I’d like best to take the 
colonel for his wedding present. Zounds!. he would look 
black, but I £m sick of having my senior boast himself as 
my heir.” 

Violet flushed, but made no reply. In these days Leigh 
spoke to her often of his longing for an heir, and Violet saw 
that her childless state was likely to widen and make per- 
manent the breach between them. 

The middle of December saw the Earl and Countess of 
Leigh among the chief witnesses of the “ marriage of Clare, 
eldest daughter of Andrew, tenth Earl of Montressor, to 
Colonel James Peter Lester Leigh Hartington, heir pre- 
sumptive of the Earldom of Leigh/’ and so on. 


134 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ Confound the man!” said Leigh to Violet, between his 
teeth. “If I could ask him to the christening of twin hoys 
at this date a year hence, Fd be the happiest man in the 
world — anything to stop his easy assumptions about inherit- 



From Clare’s wedding they went to Lin den wood for the 
Christmas festivities. Early January saw Violet and her 
husband at Lady Fanshaw’s pretty home in Sussex for the 
wedding of the charming Grace; and when Grace and her 
husband, Sir Tom, had been a week at Churchill Abbey, in 
Kent, the Leighs and others went there for a three weeks’ 
visit, and the splendid old abbey was in highest gala all that 
time. 

The time drew near for going to London for the gay 
season. Unusually brilliant social events were anticipated, 
and the young Countess of Leigh looked forward with a 
natural interest to her independent entrance into the gay 
world, with her own house and her own entertainments. 

All Belgravia, with its stately palaces, had nothing more 
magnificent than the home into which Violet was ushered 
between rows of liveried servants. 

Before the house lay the Green Park, with its soft, ver- 
dant turf, its stately trees, its surroundings of palaces. St. 
James’ and the Queen’s palaces, and Stafford and Spencer 
Houses were close at hand. Violet was in the inmost shrine 
of the English nobility, and her husband remarked to her, 
as he showed her plate and glass used by monarchs from the 
Tudor times: 

“ Your cousin, Montressor, boasts of being tenth earl of 
his house; but I am fifteenth Earl of Leigh.” And when he 
showed her in the library a heavy gold shield, with the 
arms of Leigh in rich relief, he said, proudly: “Sixteen 
quarterings, and never a bar sinister. It is a line worth 
continuing.” 

But shortly the relief afforded Lord Leigh by these new 
scenes and excitements faded away, and the old questioning 
of himself as to where the man was who had come to 
threaten him, and what hand he had had in his disappear- 
ance, returned to him. 

Meanwhile the wild-rose tint paled on Violet’s cheek; her 
brown eyes shone, not with laughter, but with tears; her 
splendors mocked her, and were the livery of her bondage. 

Leaning back, one day, in her landau, all alone, her 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS , . 


135 


hands listlessly fallen in her lap, a far-away look in her 
eyes, her face pathetic in its loneliness and longing, and 
striving to be calm, and yet every line telling her woe and 
her despair, Violet was unconsciously, for fully five minutes, 
under the steadfast gaze of Edna Ambrose. 

The pathos of that mournful girl-face roused Edna to a 
sudden and singular resolve. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. * 
violet's good angel. 

Lady Burton was at her London house. She was alone, 
but she expected her son soon, who was to take again his 
long-empty seat in the House of Peers. 

She was sitting in her boudoir, lamenting to herself Vio- 
let's evidently growing misery and Leigh's singularly in- 
creased harshness and neglect, when a footman brought her 
a card: 

“EDNA AMBROSE HAVILAND." 

Lady Burton went down to the drawing-room. 

Edna was standing almost in the center of the drawing- 
room, under the chandelier. Lady Burton advanced, hold- 
ing out both her hands. 

“ My dear girl, how pleased I am to see you! How kind 
of you to come to me.” 

“ I almost feared it would be an intrusion,” said Edna; 
“ but I had an errand that I felt I must do; and that one 
hour we talked in the wood, you looked so kind, so wise, so 
good, I felt sure I could trust you.” 

“ You may indeed trust me. To be faithful and helpful 
are my strongest characteristics,” said Lady Burton, lead- 
ing her to a seat. “ I think we shall not be disturbed for 
a long while. Now, my dear, what is it?” 

“It it about the Countess of Leigh,” she said; “I feel 
so anxious about her. From what you said the day I saw 
you, and from what I heard from old Adam, Lord Leigh's 
confidential servant, I believe you her best and oldest friend, 
and I want you to help me to help her. I saw her yester- 
day in her carriage; it was a sight to break one's heart; she 
is so young, so frail, and she looked so lonely and wretched. 


136 


A BEAUTS BITTERNESS. 


as if she were dying with heart-break. Oh, Lady Burton, 

I want to try and make things better for her — for them; for 
I am, and always must be. Lord Leigh's friend — his sister- 
friend — and wish him to be good and happy. It is a long 
story to tell, but I am quite willing to tell you all. I know 
Leigh is not a good man; but — oh. Lady Burton, cannot 
he be made a good man, and good to his wife? You do 
not know how I wish his welfare. I thought I loved him 
once." 

f ‘ My dear girl," said Lady Burton, “ I am quite alone 
to-day; let us go to my boudoir, and I will refuse myself to 
all callers. You will stay with me, and you will tell me all 
that you have in your heart. Be sure of my sympathy and 
help." 

They went up to the boudoir, and when the hat and coat 
were laid aside, and Lady Burton noted the round, satiny 
throat, and perfect face rising, flower-like, from the soft 
ruffles about her neck, her heart went out to this girl, and 
she wondered if she might not have her for a daughter. 

Then the harmonious contralto voice began to set this 
young woman's views and experiences to music. Edna told 
of her motherless' life with her father in Cornwall, with 
occasional glimpses of wealth at the home of her childless 
maternal uncle, Mr. Haviland. Of the good, mother-like 
governess, who had brought her up, and then died, and 
been succeeded by Miss Hope. She told how, in a brief 
visit to her father's half-sister, at Rose Lodge, Lord Leigh 
had seen her, and become infatuated and made a long pur- 
suit of her. 

“ And now I feel as if / am a cause of sorrow to that 
sweet young creature, his wife. When I saw her in her car- 
riage, sad and heart-sick, I felt as if I must devote all my 
time, my life, to comforting her, and making this unhappy 
marriage turn out a happy one. Can I, do you think? Is 
there no way in which I can help her? You love her; you 
know her best. Help me to plan. She has heard of me, 
and thought me an enemy as Miss Ambrose; but as Miss 
Haviland she does not know me at all: and as Miss Havi- 
land cannot I become her friend; and as a friend, if I could 
only bring before her all that is good in him, and make 
him see that he can never, never be to me anything but a 
friend, and that only if he is. a good husband” to her; and 
if I could make him see her as good, and sweet, and charm- 


/ 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 137 

ing as she is, as I see her! Oh, it all sounds so wild, feeble, 
and foolish to speak it; but in my heart in some way it seems 
right and good.” 

“ No girl needs a friend of her own age more than Vio- 
let,” said Lady Burton; “and if you met, she must love 
you; no one could help it.” 

“And how shall we meet?” 

“ If you are the niece of John Haviland, of Brompton, I 
met him and your mother when I was a young girl; and 
your father, the Cornwall vicar, was well known to me by 
reputation. I can plan you a much better way to know Vio- 
let. Come here as my guest; spend the season with me. I 
shall love to introduce you wherever I go.” 

“ Oh, Lady Burton, I cannot do that.” 

But Lady Burton was persistent, and next day ordered 
rooms made ready for her “young friend. Miss Haviland.” 

“If I agree to your proposal, dear Lady Burton,” said 
Edna, “ do you not see that I shall meet Lord Leigh in 
society, as well as his wife?” 

“And why not?” said Lady Burton. “Must a girl of 
your accomplishments, beauty, youth, family, hide herself 
like a criminal, be left deprived of all social life, or find 
companionship only among uncongenial people, because a 
man who courted and then forsook her, and married, has 
chosen again to fall in love with her? If Lord Leigh be- 
comes importunate it will be easy to repress him. You will 
be under my protection.” 

And so, after some discussion, it was settled. 

“When will you come to me? “ Let us say Thusday,” 
said Lady Burton. 

Edna appeared at Lady Burton's with a neat little maid, 
skilled and devoted, and a wardrobe of “dainty, exquisite 
taste, simple and rich. She did not need the varied and 
elaborate toilets required by many young beauties. Her own 
loveliness was her charm, and simplicity became her as it 
does the lilies. Natural flowers were her favorite ornaments. 
She had a store of rich, old, almost priceless lace from her 
aunt Haviland and mother. 

Lady Burton took care to bring about an immediate meet- 
ing with Violet. She drove to see the little Countess of 
Leigh on the day after Edna's arrival, and bring her back 
to lunch with her. 

“ I have a young friend, Miss Haviland, to pass the sea- 


13S 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


son with me, and I want you to be friends at once. I have 
cards for your aunt's ball next week for her, and your great 
ball to introduce your two cousins will come off next, I sup- 
pose. I shall follow with something — not a crush, but, I 
hope, very charming, and with musicale , for Miss Havi- 
land's voice is exquisite." 

When Violet descended from Lady Burton's barouche at 
the door she glanced up, and saw a charming face between 
the flowers in the drawing-room window. Edna, with a 
naive anxiety, had been looking out for them for an hour. 

Edna herself took off the pretty hat and the little 
gloves, and before Violet knew it, she was chatting away 
with the stranger, as one long known. They went to the 
conservatory and discovered what flowers, even what colors, 
each loved best; to the music-room, and confided each to 
each what songs were dearest; they told what novels and 
poems of the season they had read, and what characters in 
each they liked best; and Edna had told Violet that of all 
things she liked painting; and Lady Burton had said she 
might have the dearest little studio, and might she paint 
Violet, “ for I don't mean to be very, very gay, you know," 
said Edna. “ I mean to have some time to myself." 

“ But you'll come to my entertainments, won't you?" said 
Violet. “ And, when I get lonesome and sick of every- 
thing, may I come to your studio?" 

“ Let us see each other every day," said Edna. 

“ Do you think you'd mind very much being very great 
friends with me?" said Violet. “Real, deep friends? I 
shall be a trouble, I fear, for I'm terribly low-spirited some- 
times." 

“We'll do away with all that, and be the very dearest 
friends ever were known if you like," said Edna, warmly. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

“A MERE ACQUAINTANCE! CAN I BE NO MORE?" 

It was the evening of the Countess Montressor's ball. No 
more splendid social event had been known in London for 
years. Lady Clare Hartington looked imperial in her stately 
dress of white velvet and pearls. Lady Grace Churchill, 
the other bride, was radiant in a robe of white lace trimmed 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


139 

with Persian lilacs; but Lord Leigh felt a little glow of pride 
stir his heart, as his young countess, in a rose-colored bro- 
cade, shimmering with multitudinous diamonds in count- 
less points of light, cauzed a buzz of admiration even 
through that self-contained, aristocratic assembly, as she 
moved up, and took her place beside her aunt. The Mar- 
quis of Alwood, prospective Duke of Ripon, pressed for- 
ward at once to be presented to her, and asked her hand for 
the first dance. Sunned in universal applause and admira- 
tion, Violet stood with a bright face, smiles wreathing her 
lips, dimpling her cheeks, gleaming in her uplifted brown 
eyes; her voice rippled merrily in piquant, artless sayings; 
without vanity or coquery she stood the center of all eyes. 

Suddenly the Marquis of Alwood gave a start. 

“ Lady Leigh! Tell me — who is that divine creature!” 

Violet looked up. Edna Haviland, in a simple robe of 
cream white satin, with no ornaments but lilies of the val- 
ley, was entering the room with Lady Burton and Lord 
Kenneth Keith. 

There was almost a hush of admiration and wonder. Vio- 
let whispered: 

“ It is my dear friend. Miss Edna Haviland;” and yet her 
heart grew sick and faint. 

The words reached not only the marquis, but Lord 
Leigh. He turned, and his eyes fell on the womam whon\ 
he worshiped. 

After saluting the Countess Montressor, Lady Burton and 
her two companion's turned to Violet's party. It was Vio- 
let herself who presented the Marquis Alwood and Lord 
Leigh to Miss Haviland. The honest soul of Edna was dis- 
pleased at the idea of seeming to be a stranger to one whom 
she knew so well. She said, quietly, as she gave Norman 
Leigh her hand for a second: 

“ Lord Leigh and I have met before; I trust we are fairly 
good friends.” 

Norman Leigh nearly lost his breath in wonder at Edna’s 
beauty, and her unexpected appearance. At first he was so 
dazzled by his good fortune at meeting her, and by admira- 
tion, that he forgot everthing but to gaze at her. He came 
to his senses in realizing that the Marquis of Alwood, 
Lord Keith, and Sir Tom had seized the opportunity of se- 
curing her hand for several dances. He pressed hastily to 
her side. 


140 


A BEAUTS BITTERNESS. 


“ You will make me happy by one waltz. Miss Havi- 
land?” 

“Really, Lord Leigh / 5 said Edna, glancing along her 
tablet, with indifference, “I have not a waltz left . 55 

“ All the waltzes of the evening gone ! 55 said Leigh, 
amazed. 

“ All in which I shall indulge , 55 said Edna, calmly. 

“Some dance then , 55 pleaded Leigh, eagerly; “do not 
deny me all . 55 

“ I think I have promised all that I shall dance , 55 said 
Edna, again referring to her tablets, and then glided into 
conversation with Sir Tom and Lady Grace Churchill. 

Lord Leigh had engaged his wife for the first dance; he 
had only expected to dance that once, as he was not fond 
of that amusement. When he led out Violet, Edna and 
Lord Keith were near them. He grew pale with rage and 
jealous envy, as he saw Edna 5 s delicate hand resting on 
KeitlTs shoulder. 

Whispered praises of his lovely little wife fell coldly on 
Leigh 5 s ear — were hardly understood; but every word that 
suggested that Edna and Kenneth looked rarely well to- 
gether, and made a magnificent couple, pierced Leigii’s 
fevered, heart like a savage knife-thrust. 

“What am I to understand by your appearance here with 
Lady Burton ?’ 5 whispered Leigh, later, in Edna’s ear. 

“ Why, that she is my chaperon, and that I am likely to 
have a delightful season, 5 ’ said Edna, serenely. 

“Am I to conside that it means a match with Keith ? 55 

“ Really, my lord , 55 said Edna, scornfully, “ I cannot see 
on what ground you presume to ask such a question. I 
may be ignorant of the customs of society. Do mere ac- 
quaintances challenge personal acts and intentions in this 
fashion ?’ 5 

“A mere acquaintance ! Oh, Edna, can I be no more ! 55 

“ Not a whit more , 55 said Edna, “ unless by dignity, good 
judgment, and nobleness, you show yourself worthy to be 
my friend.” 

Lord Leigh retired to a secluded corner of the conserva- 
tory to meditate. He looked from the fragrant, flowery 
shades of the conservatory into the brilliant ball-room, and 
saw the rosy, diamond sprinkled figure of Violet taking her 
place in the dance on the arm of Sir Tom Churchill. How 
frail a thing she looked, yet standing as an invincible wall 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


141 


between him and his desire! Her child-like, touching pen- 
sive beauty made no impression upon him, because near it 
shone, in a serene splendor, the matchless face of Edna. 

When Lord Leigh came out of the conservatory, the 
palms and the ferns, the roses and orchids, had heard his 
vow, to bend all his powers in reinstating himself in the 
heart of Edna Ambrose Haviland. This resolve calmed 
him a little, and then he had time to wonder how his wife 
had become acquainted with Edna, whose friendship she 
had lately indignantly rejected. She had called her “her 
friend!” What mystery was this? He saw the slender 
figure of Violet resting in a large gray plush easy-chair, 
which set her delicate pink brocade and her dark shining 
head in bright relief. He went to her, bent dutifully over 
her chair, and taking her fan, began gently fanning her. 
Violet looked up gratefully. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Leigh?” 

“Oh, much, thank you.” 

“ That is a very pretty friend of yours, in care of Lady 
Burton. Where did you find her?” 

“At Lady Burton's. Lady Burton has a genius for sur- 
rounding herself with lovely girls. Is she not exquisite?” 

“ Very, indeed.” 

“ And we are such friends! Do you not think it would 
be delightful if she would come and stfy with us some?” 

“ Perhaps, for a little, toward the close of the season, if 
you like,” said Leigh, quietly, while his heart leaped 
madly. 

“At least she will beat all our entertainments — at our 
ball next week. Oh, do you know she has a studio at 
Lady Burton's, and paints. She is to paint me. I will 
get her to let me bring you there some if you like, 
Norman.” 

“ Thank you, my dear. If you are rested would you 
like to go see some wonderful cacti in the conservatory?” 

The presence of Edna, for whom his absorbing passion 
daily grew, turned Norman Leigh's mind from the dread- 
ful scene by the Black Pool. His spirit shook off some 
of that clinging, deadly burden of self-accusation, and 
terror of some discovery that might f bring crime to his 
charge. To see more of Edna, he followed more closely 
his wife, who was now constantly with her best loved 
friend. 


142 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


The night of Violet’s ball was a marked occasion. No 
expense had been spared to make .it a scene of unmatch- 
able splendor. Lord Leigh had opened the ball with Vio- 
let, and had secured Edna for the second dance. She 
had been unable to refuse him a waltz, but just as they 
were taking their place on the floor, Edna’s hand on his 
shoulder, his arm clasped about her lovely waist, some one 
touched his hand, and gave him a telegram. It was from 
his steward at the Towers. 

“ Wilcox has disappeared. They mean to drag the Black Pool for 
him to-morrow.” 

The room whirled about him. The floor seemed to open 
at his feet. He saw, as in a vision, a horrible disfigured, 
ghastly face lying on the bottom of the Black Pool, and 
what damnatory evidence might not be in the papers 
clutched in the dead hand — possibly decipherable still? 

“ Lord Leigh, you are ill. You have news, let me re- 
lease you,” said Edna. 

“ I must go to the Towers,” he gasped. 

Without a word, steadying him as she seemed to lean on 
his arm, she led him from the ball-room to the libary and 
rang the bell for Adam. Then she gave him a glass of 
wine. 

“Adam, get my cloak, and follow me — we must go to the 
Towers,” said Leigh, when his old valet entered. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“ MEET ME, OR I WILL RUIN YOU ! ” 

Lord Leigh could hardly have told why he had summoned 
Adam to go with him on that terrible night journey. He 
scarcely could have told why he went at all.' It was gray 
morning when they arrived at the Towers, and roused the 
slumbering household. 

“ There was no need to have you come, my lord,” said 
the steward. “It was only a matter of dragging the 
Pool, and I thought you should know. You are "particular 
as to such things. Wilxcox disappeared, and his mother 
will have it he’s drowned in the Pool. 

“ I will go and superintend it,” said Lord Leigh, coldly. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


143 


“ I have always, from a boy, had a strange fancy for 
knowing what is in the bottom of the Pool.” 

The dew was still drenching the tender young leaves and 
the great pale, fragrant bloom of the primroses, when the 
party from the Towers went to see the dragging of the 
Black Pool. There was one little level space of turf near 
the water, beside “ The EarPs Folly,” and the coroner's man 
said: 

“ We'll lay the body here when we get it.” 

There Norman Leigh planted himself where the body 
would be laid at his feet. But whose body, and what a 
sight it would be for him? 

Back and forth over the Pool rowed the boats, dragging 
this way and that, until the sun was high. 

“There's naught here, sir,” shouted the men. 

“ There must be some deep, unsoundable hole that the 
drags do not reach,” said Lord Leigh to the coroner's 
man. 

“ I don't see why we should think a body is there at 
all,” said the man. “It's only widow Wilcox's whim, sir.” 

“No body in there?” said Lord Leigh, slowly. “ None?” 

“ Quite sure there's none, my lord.” 

“Did you think there was a body in there, master?” 
cried old Adam, pressing forward. 

“ I think? No, certainly not,” said Leigh, and fell for- 
ward senseless. 

They carried him into “ The Earl's Folly,” and laid him on 
the couch. Then, as Adam loosened his lord's clothing, he 
found a revolver, all barrels loaded, ready to his hand. 
The old man looked at it a little, then hurled it through 
the window far out into the Pool. 

It was later in the day when Leigh asked for “ Whab had 
been in his breast.” 

“ It is under the water, master. What did you carry it 
for? To do the last, wickedest thing a man may?” 

“ No doubt it is what it will come to. But never mind 
that now, Adam. I feel better. But let us get to London. 
It was all nonsense to come up here.” 

A load was off Leigh's heart. The Pool had no tales to 
tell, no dead man, no dangerous papers. The man had dis- 
appeared as strangely as he oame. If Helen Hope would 
also disappear. Lord Leigh would be at peace. But the 
very day ne returned to London, Violet, calling at the house 


144 A HEART'S BITTERNESS , 

of her aunt Ainslie, met the younger girls going ou( with 
a new governess — a treasure, Mrs. Ainslie said. 

The governess was — Helen Hope! 

The three younger Ainslies about this time took a won- 
derful fancy for their cousin Violet, and for making calls 
on her early, before the day of fashionable life had begun. 
They supposed this a spontaneous notion on their part, but, 
in reality, it was craftily opened and kept up by the gov- 
erness. 

The first morning they found Violet breakfasting in bed. 
Leigh had been at the House of Peers late, and slept at his 
club. Violet had been at a great crush at the Countess of 
Norfolk’s, and felt singularly wearied and depressed. When 
she heard that her three little cousins had called, she had 
them come up. 

(( 1 fear we intrude,” said Helen, quietly; “but they 
would come; and their lives are so very quiet and dull.” 

“Fm so glad you brought, them,” said Violet, turning 
her soft, tender eyes to Helen. “ Sit down, and let them 
talk. They are so artless, and I think they love me.” 

“Love you! Why, Violet, we love you to death!” and 
the three juveniles precipitated themselves on their cousin, 
and kissed her hands and hair and her little soft neck. 
Helen Hope slid into the chair close to Violet’s pillow, and 
some way, in a few minutes, had taken the tender, confi- 
dential tone of old friendship. Aided by the smiles and 
prattling voices of the juniors, the breakfast went better. 
The broiled pigeon and wafer bread and tea were finished, 
and the children examined all the little golden spoons, and 
the gold-lined jugs, and their accommodating governess did 
not see when Kate filled their pockets with bon-bons. They 
must be anxious to come again; and, as Helen Hope coolly 
told herself, looking at their robust growth, “ it would take 
a deal of anything to hurt them.” 

Again and again they came, and, soon as the children 
went to the conservatory with Kate for flowers, or to the 
housekeeper’s room for unusual treats of conserves, Violet 
and Helen fell into coversation, and Helen discovered that 
Violet had a rooted antipathy to a certain Miss Ambrose, 
and had no idea at all that Edna Haviland had anything in 
common with that object of her irritation — also, she found 
that Violet was very unhappy, and believed herself failing 
in health, and wanted to die, and would not send for a phy- 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


145 


sician, nor let any one know her wretched feelings. Violet 
avoided her husband's name, and would make no com- 
plaints; but in Helen's skillful hands, Violet was plastic as 
wax; and it did not need direct or conscious revelations to 
make Helen aware of all that wretched domestic history — 
the coldness, the disappointment, the heart-ache. 

“ All I want," said Violet, “ is to be out of the world. I 
am so lonesome — so low-spirited. I mean to keep up as 
long a^ I can, so no one shall know how miserable I am, and I 
shall wear out by degrees, and when I go back to Leigh 
Towers, I will just fade away in a decline, as my mother did 
finally. I shall not hold out so long. Probably I am not 
so strong as she was. I wish I could be buried by her, 
under the roses at Ainslie church-yard; but I must be buried 
in those fearful cold vaults at Leigh Towers. Still, it 
doesn't much matter." 

Thus Violet spoke, when, in the secrecy of her own room, 
she was beguiled into confidential talk by the wily Helen. 
Perhaps this expression of her troubles relieved her, for she 
was of a confiding nature. When she went out, the air, 
excitement, her very fragility, bringing fitful flushes to her 
cheek, and brightness to her eyes, made her look well to the 
careless observer. Lady Barton and Edna saw deeper, but 
they did not know all — not all that was poured out to Helen 
— for the secret about Kenneth gave Violet a certain reti- 
cence concerning her married life, to Lady Burton, and, as 
far as she knew, Edna was atmost a stranger to Leigh, and 
she could not complain. So far as she could, Violet was 
striving to do her duty to the bitter end. 

Mrs. Ainslie, sparing no effort to make the first season of 
her dear girls a success, gave, among other entertainments, 
a fancy ball. Helen Hope was as Mrs. Ainslie’s right hand 
in arranging costumes and decorations, though, of course, 
it never entered the good lady's head that . her governess 
might long to have other part in it than thus serving. Hav- 
ing served, indeed, until all was done, and the young ladies 
dressed, Helen declared herself dying with headache, and, 
retreating to her own room, locked herself in. She knew 
all the dresses that were to be assumed by the guests be- 
longing to the family, and that Lord Leigh was taking the 
congenial character of Francis the First, of France, while 
Kenneth Keith was to be Bayard, the spotless chevalier, 
Edna, the Lily Maid of Astolat, and Violet, Juliet. 


146 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


When nearly all the guests were gathered, how could 
hostess or guests know that a tall, elegant figure, dressed 
for Readers “ Yellow Masque,” had not come in at the 
guests' entrance, but had stolen down from the upper re- 
gions of the house — was, in fact, the governess, Helen 
Hope? 

Norman Leigh knew her well enough, as her voice fell on 
his ear. 

“ Norman, I must, I will see you alone!” 

“In Heaven's name! how came you here?” 

“ Never mind. I shall be, on Friday night, at Lady Nor- 
folk's Fern Fantasie,' and I will see you in the conserva- 
tory. Wear this on your shoulder, and meet me, or I will 
ruin you!” 

She handed him a tiny box, and went away. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ THE FERN FANTASIE. ” 

The Countess of Norfolk was a woman of great genius, 
kind heart, and lofty reputation. She was also given to the 
most extravagant whims — had always some new mania of 
the hour — and was royally lavish in expenditure. For 
three years ferns had been the great passion of the Countess 
of Norfolk. Her fernery had become celebrated in all Eng- 
land — we may say in the world — for she received new ferns 
from the four quarters of the globe, and botanists came 
from many lands to study her treasures. 

The countess never gave but two great entertainments in 
a season, but each of these was expected to be a theme of 
wonder and helpless envy and admiration. She had disco v- 
vered an entirely new variety of fete for this season, and 
called it a “fern fantasie.” 

To this entertainment Anna Ainslie had received a card, 
through the intercession of Violet, who was a great favorite 
with the countess. But Anna had also received an invitation 
to a party given by Captain Gore's sister, with whom she 
had formed a close acquaintance. This she had confided to 
Helen, and Helen had arranged that she herself should claim 
Mrs. Watson's invitation, and that, leaving the house to- 
gether, she >and Anna should privately change costumes, 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


147 


and Helen should personate Anna at the “ fern fantasie," 
leaving Anna free to go to Mrs. Watson's. As Anna had a 
marvelous gift for conversing in monosyllables, the exchange 
might be fairly easy. 

It was thus that in a green domino, with mossy-brown 
trimmings, Helen Hope, arrived at the Countess Norfolk's 
under the chaperonage of Violet, who, on entering the car- 
riage, had innocently remarked: 

“Why, Anna! how tall and slender that plain domino 
makes you look, and what an immense time you kept the 
carriage!" 

“Yes," said softly the supposititious Anna. 

Norman Leigh was also in the carriage, sulking in one 
corner. His presence thrilled and fired the mad heart of 
the infatuated Helen Hope. For him life was a spasm of 
fury, as wherever he went he expected to see Edna attended 
by devoted cavaliers, from whom he, the husband of Violet, 
must be excluded. 

Merry and charming masques filled the splendid recep- 
tion-rooms of the Countess of Norfolk. Night, Titania, 
Sleep, Dreams, all the fern varieties, Endymion, Diana, 
Oberon, Puck, Orion; but, stateliest and loveliest of all, 
was Edna Haviland as Luna. She was in a robe and vail 
of diaphanous tissue, with silver threads; it was looped 
with stars, and sown with tiny crystal drops like dew. To 
look at her was to remember the song of the romance 
lay, “Her eyes are softer than sleep." On each shoulder 
her delicate, misty vail was caught by a pearl and silver 
lunar moth. 

Violet Leigh was Titania, and a sweet fairy queen she 
was. Lord Leigh was in a plain domino of green velvet, 
with silver dots, representing a South American fern — on 
his shoulder was the lunar moth, which he had found in the 
box he had received from Helen Hope. 

There were many dominoes of silver and brown, such as 
Anna Ainslie had chosen. 

Early in the evening Leigh attached himself to the train 
that followed Edna, for, as she wore no mask, all knew her, 
and a crowd pressed about her. 

“ We are matched by fate to-night, fair Luna," said 
Leigh, “the same emblem rests on the shoulders of us 
both." 

“ That is curious," said Edna. “ I thought no one else 


148 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


had such ornaments. My uncle had these made for me 
when he was in Genoa, and I gave one away.” 

“ Let us wander into the conservatory and hear the 
new music, prepared for the evening, ‘ the Song of the 
Nightingale . 5 I believe that is Tom Tower as the Arctic 
Owl, and little Ensign Blunt as the Screech Owl, and well 
suited.” 

“And you are Lord Leigh, by your voice,” said Edna, as 
they stood on the threshold of the conservatory. 

“ Thank you for remembering anything about me,” said 
Leigh. 

“ I do not wish to remember anything unkind about you, 
I am sure. I left Rose Lodge very angry at you, but now 
that I have met your wife, and love her with all my heart, 
I cannot be your enemy.” 

“Will you be my friend?” asked Leigh, eagerly. 

“I tell you honestly,” Norman,” said Edna, “I will be 
your friend, just as you show yourself worthy of friend- 
ship, by making your wife happy. Was there ever a 
sweeter-looking creature than she is now, as the queen of 
fairy-land?” 

“Well enough; but you know you are the bright par- 
ticular star of the whole evening.” 

“You know that it was always one of my peculiarities to 
dislike compliments, and the longer I am in society the 
more I weary of them. You have been kind and polite, 
and as I wish you to be, since I entered your social circle. 
Lord Leigh, and I am willing to let by-gones perish, and 
be friends, if your lovely little wife is the center and bond 
of our friendship.” 

“ Tell me,” burst out Leigh, “ do you mean to marry ? 55 

“ The question is not a fair one; but in time, no doubt, I 
shall marry . 55 

The Marquis of Alwood came up, and reminded the 
lovely Luna that she was to dance with him. Many of 
the merry guests were now in the ball-room, Strauss 5 waltzes 
took the place of the soft nocturnes, and Lord Leigh, with 
wrath in his heart, strolled farther into the conservatory. 

There, in the green depths of almost tropic richness, his 
reverie was interrupted by a domino of green silk with moss- 
brown fringes. 

“Norman, you have come to me! Are you learning at 
last that one heart of all the world is true and faithful, 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 149 

one woman would die for you — finds heaven only in your 
presence ?” 

“I came — I am curious, Helen, to know your open- 
sesame to such select circles as this and the rout at Mrs. 
Ainslie’s. Have you, too, inherited a fortune, and become 
a lady of fashion ?” 

“ As Edna has? If I had, remember, yours would be 
the eye in these gay scenes that my look would seek, yours 
would be the one voice I should hear. I should not pass 
you as she does, with that cold, calm smile, and mock you 
with my lovers. I cannot tell you how I came here. I 
came to tell you that I am always .true, and in loneliness 
you can turn to me.” 

“But why consider me lonely?” 

“I know things that you do not. Edna is preparing to 
mar,ry. In a few months she will have secured a title, as 
she has always schemed to do. And in that few months you 
will be a widower.” 

Leigh started. 

What are you saying, girl?” 

“ Blind creature! do you not see that your wife is fading 
before your eyes? The new year’s snows will not find her 
here. Then, Norman, you will be free! Then you will 
turn to me? Remember my faith, my adoration; that I 
of all women love you most — would live to please your 
slightest whim. Tell me when you are free, will you 
marry me?” 

“ No, I will not,” said Leigh, shaking off her hand from 
his arm and muttering an oath. “I don’t believe what you 
say. My wife is well enough, well as ever she was. And 
if it did happen that she died, and I could not get the one 
being in all the world that I care for — Edna — then make 
up your mind I will marry in my own rank, and have an 
heir who has no blot on his ancestry.” 

Helen turned and hid her face in the thick fronds of a 
fern, and moaned a desolate, wild moan of a wounded 
creature hiding to die!” 

“Oh, Norman, Norman!” 

“Look yon, girl! I believe, on my life, if I even hinted 
that I would marry you in the event I was left free, that 
you are quite equal to poisoning my poor little countess. 

I may be a bad man — I am; but Heaven knows there are 
some depths in your nature far lower than I find in mine.” 


150 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ She would need no help from me!” cried Helen. “ She 
is dying fast enough; she goes day by day steadily to her 
doom. And you won't see it, and you taunt me. Fool! 
Wretch! I will bring you to my level, mark my words!” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

FALLEN BY THE WAYSIDE.. 

Whenever Helen Hope introduced the name of Kenneth 
Keith in her frequent conversations with Violet, Violet was 
either silent or quickly and adroitly changed the conversa- 
tion. But though not one word was said, Helen felt more 
and more assured that Kenneth had been the one great love 
of Violet's life — that in spite of herself her heart still clung 
to him in a silent, hopeless agony. One day she said, boldly, 
to Violet: 

“ Since it is evident that Lord Leigh does not care for 
you, why don't you give him up entirely, and make other 
friends) and find happiness with some one who would care 
for you? Why do you not abandon all this life that is wear- 
ing you out? Why not go away by yourself for a year or 
so, until you recover strength and live down your sorrow? 
Such a course would be a lesson to Lord Leigh. He would 
miss you and treat you well when you would be willing to 
return.” 

“I would not do such a thing for the world,” said Violet. 
“ Even if my husband would be glad to be rid of me, other 
friends would care — my aunts. Lady Burton, Edna.” 

“ If you were not quite blinded you would see that Lady 
Burton is setting all her love on Miss Haviland, and trying 
to get her for Lord Keith. Miss Haviland will take the 
greatest match offered her. From the way she and Leigh 
exchange glances, I think if you were out "of the way that 
would be her match. Lord Keith evidently adores her. At 
your dinner here the other night, when you were so sweet 
as to let me come and look on, dear, I saw them talking to- 
gether in a window for a long time. I understood — he was 
pleading his suit, and she was putting him off easily, to see 
if the marquis would propose. She is as true as her name,” 
said Helen. 

“And why is not her name true?” demanded Violet. 







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152 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“It is, in a way, taken lately to secure property, you' 
know." 

“ No, I don’t know. I never heard of it." 

“ Do you mean to say that she has been all this time de- 
ceiving you, and you do not know that she is my old pupil, 
Edna Ambrose, from Cornwall and Rose Lodge?" 

“ What — what!" cried Violet. 

“ Poor child! Then they have deceived you. Lady Bur- 
ton, Keith, and all. I supposed you knew. She set out to 
see if she could keep her empire over Leigh; no doubt he 
put her up to it, as you refused to invite her. They made 
you do it by this trick. But she sees Keith is a good match, 
and so she has engrossed him. Every one of them is mak- 
ing a tool of you, and playing with your innocence." 

Violet sprang to her feet; her eyes burned, her whole 
frame quivered. 

“ You swear this is true — that she is Edna Ambrose, that 
all knew it but me, that Lady Burton, Edna, Kenneth, 
Leigh, all are deceiving me?" 

“ I swear it on my knees; they are all deceiving you — 
every one of them." 

“ Then I will fly from them forever. I will never return. 
I will go and hide, and die, away from deceivers. I will go 
to-morrow morning. Yes, yes, I will go. Oh, this is too 
cruel. Edna, Keith, Lady Burton, all leagued against me — 
against poor little Violet!" 

The next May morning had not risen when from that 
grand Belgravian mansion might have been seen a slender 
figure flying through the night. 

Out of her palatial home fled the heroine of the Ainslie 
millions. Of all the rich garb that filled her many ward- 
robes and closets, she had only the simple gray silk and 
little bonnet of Milan braid which she wore, and a change 
of under-clothing, in the little embroidered velvet bag in 
her hand. . In that bag, also, she had two sets of jewels, 
and five guineas, while sewed in the bosom of her dress she 
had^ bank notes of one hundred pounds. 

Ko one of the sleeping household knew the mistress had 
departed. 

Alone, the young countess hardly knew the streets of Lon- 
don. . She made a few turns, and, as the May dawn light- 
ened into primrose and pink, she signaled a stray cab, and 
bade the sleepy driver take her to the King’s Cross station. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


153 


Helen Hope had told her to take a ticket to Bedford, 
where she herself would join her, and they would go to 
a hamlet, she said, called Dee, in Derbyshire, by Derwent- 
water. 

The morning was already hot and glaring when Violet 
alighted at Bedford station. She looked eagerly around for 
Helen, but only strange faces met her bewildered gaze. She 
was faint from wakeful woe and the early ride. 

| Until three o’clock she waited for the treacherous Helen; 
then/ entirely overcome, she asked the old woman who 
tended the waiting-room to send any lady that might come 
to look for her to the nearest hotel; and, crossing the street, 
went with faltering steps into the large, barren public- 
house, and asked for a room. 

The room was as poor as any assigned to her servants. 
When the staring, inquisitive chambermaid left' her, she 
washed her hands, took off her dress, let down her hair, 
and considered with astonishment that she had neither 
dressing-sacque nor morning-gown to put on. Then she 
fell on the hard little bed, and, thinking of her hideous fate, 
of her miserable married life, of her treacherous friends, of 
her lost, forgetful love, Kenneth, she wept until from utter 
exhaustion she fell asleep. 

All night long she heard through her uneasy slumbers 
the thunder of passing trains. Dazed and heavy from her 
feverish slumbers, she roused to find herself lying, partly 
dressed, in that strange, inhospitable room. It was a new 
day; twenty-four hours she had been absent from her home; 
and Helen, who had promised to come with her, to take her 
to a refuge, to nurse her as a sister, had not come to her. 
What had happened? Had Helen deceived her, or was she 
ill or dead? Or had she herself mistaken the-. given direc- 
tions, taken a wrong railway, and gone to a wrong place? 
Perhaps she had made an error, and Helen had said she 
would meet her at Dee. Ought she to go on alone to Dee? 
She felt that she could not spend another day in that hide- 
ous, hot, staring, close, wretched hotel. She would go on, 
on somewhere where at least it was silent, cool, fresh. She 
arose, made the best toilet that she could, and rang for the 
maid. 

Helen had arranged that Violet should call herself Mrs. 
Lester. She asked the servant to inquire of the clerk, and 
at the station, if a lady had been to seek for Mrs. Lester. 


154 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ There’s been no one, ma’am/’ said the girl, returning. 

“ Can you bring me some breakfast in a private room?” 

“ Private room for eatin’ is ten shillin’ extra.” 

Violet took ten shillings from her purse, and two shil- 
lings for the girl, which promptly made- the freckled ser- 
vant her ally. 

A moderately good meal was served, and the girl asked if 
she could do anything more for the lady. 

“ I want to go to a small place called Dee, in Derby- 
shire,” said Violet, timidly, “and I don’t know how to get 
there. I have never been there; it is a country place where 
I meant to spend the summer with a friend. I expected 
she would meet me here. She has lived in Dee. And as 
I have not found her, I fear I misunderstood, and that she 
has gone on to Dee to meet me, and will be alarmed for me. 
Tell me just what you would do,” said Violet. 

“Why, I’d go to Derby straight, seein’ as it’s shire 
town to Derby County, and there, of course, they would 
know where Dee was; no doubt it’s some little place off the 
railroad, and you -get to it by a fly.” 

“Oh, thank you,” cried Violet. “And would you tell 
me how to get to Derby?” 

The girl laughed. 

“ I declare, you’re no better than a new-horn baby to take 
care of yourself. To get to Derby you look at a time-table, 
and take the right train.” 

But the girl had marked the quiver of the lovely lips, the 
sudden filling of the brown eyes, the coming and going of 
red and white on the sweet young face, and her heart was 
moved, and her sympathies aroused. 

“ Don’t fret yourself, there’s a dear,” she said. “ I’ll go 
look out your train, and buy your ticket, and see you off all 
right.” 

She went away for a little, and Violet heard her say in 
the hall that she “ was going to look out for a young iady 
as didn’t know a mite how to manage for ’erself, but was as 
pretty as a picter, and rich — by her rings.” 

This recalled Violet to the fact that she had on her hands 
a number of jewels, and at her neck a pin of rubies and 
diamonds. She hastily dropped all these tell-tale ornaments 
into her satchel, and covered her two small white hands with 
gray silk gloves. 

“There, miss,” said the girl, returning; “let me take 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


155 


you to the station. There’s a train starts soon for Derby. 
I’ll tell the guard to see to you. You have to change at 
Chester.” 

She handed Violet over to the pleasant-faced guard, re- 
ceived another douceur, which charmed her, and went sing- 
ing back to her bed-making, while the truant little Count- 
ess of Leigh, shut alone in a first-class carriage, sat in tremb- 
ling terror at the change at Chester. 

Miserable indeed were the five hours spent in the rushing 
train. Violet looked with heavy eyes at the landscape 
lying under the broad sunlight. Her head was hot and dull, 
her heart thumped and fluttered, hot flushes and miserable 
rigors passed over her slender, tired frame. 

Finally the train stopped; there was a great noise of shout- 
ing and screaming; the guard came to her. 

“ It is Chester, if you please, my lady. I hope you have 
some one to meet you?” 

“ No one,” said Violet, forlornly. 

“ You look very ill,” said the guard, anxiously. 

“ It is riding in the train,” said Violet, hastily bracing 
herself up. “I never liked it. I shall be better.” 

“ The first train on the left-hand track will be for Der- 
by,” said the guard. “ Don’t miss it, my lady.” 

Then the car that had brought her so far whirled away, 
and Violet felt as if she had lost her last friend in that 
kindly guard. 

Another long agony in a train, where several people in 
the carriage with her stared at her dreadfully. 

Finally she was at Derby. She had sense to recognize 
her exhaustion and get a cup of tea. Then she began in- 
quiring for the village of Dee. 

“ Dee!” No one had ever heard of such a place. “There 
was Belper, and Metlock, and Burton, but no -Dee.” 

“A small country place,” explained Violet, “ on the river 
Derwent; off the railroad, probably.” 

But no one had ever heard of Dee. The head- waiter said 
he had fished all up and down Derwent water, and never 
heard of a Dee in Derbyshire; and then the station-agent 
got a gazetteer, and proved to her out of print that the 
shire of Derby had no place in it called Dee. 

Violet felt as if her reason were forsaking her. No Dee! 
Where, then, should she go? Where find Helen Hope? 
What did it mean? Was she betrayed? She turned away 


C 


156 


'A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


from the little group about her, went to a window, and sat 
down to try and collect herself. Her suspicions were 
aroused. 

Had Helen basely lied to her? Had she played with her 
miseries, and deceived her with that story about Edna Am- 
brose, a plot of all against her? Perhaps Helen herself had 
schemed to drive her to this miserable escape so as to make 
fresh trouble for her, or open a way for herself to Leigh. 
She thought she had better go back home. And yet how 
should she explain her flight, and those two wretched days 
and that dismal night passed in absence from her husband’s 
roof? How mad, how wicked she had^been, after all her 
resolutions to be good. 

She lost all control of herself for the moment, and burst 
into tears, and sobs shook her frame. 

The waiting- wo man came hastily to her. 

“Miss, what’s wrong? Are you in any trouble? Shall 
we send for any one?” 

And, as Violet could not answer, the woman held some 
salts near her face, and bathed her forehead from a glass of 
water. 

But that weeping, for which she hated herself, and of 
which she was heartily ashamed, saved her for the time. She 
recovered her composure. 

She thanked the waiting-woman, and said, quietly: 

“No, I want nothing; you need send for no one. I am 
over tired from the long trip, and riding in the train always 
makes me a little ill. I am better now. I felt disappointed 
at not seeing a friend, but I can go on alone very well. I 
know just what to do.” 

So she slipped a shilling in the woman’s hand, which sil- 
ver being more potent than words, she was allowed to ar- 
range her hair and bathe her face in the little dressing-room, 
and so slip out of the side door of the station, and go her 
way. 

Oh, to get away from the town, from the burning pave, ' 
the curious eyes, the bold faces, the strident voices! Oh, to 
get into the blessed country, to be shaded by trees, to hear 
birds sing, to tread On soft grass! 

She threaded one street after another, and after a time 
passed the intervening rows of shops and dwellings, and 
came by open fields. 

A stile led into a field, and across the field the fringe of 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


157 


alders, and willows, and poplars showed where the river 
ran. 

She longed for the murmur of the waters, the freshness 
of the banks, and so crossed the stile and field to the foot- 
path that ran along blue Derwent's side. All the world was 
in the glory of the May. Clover, red and white, shook fra- 
grance from its crowded bloom, the pink-tipped daisies 
starred the grass, and all along the water-ways blossomed 
the golden pyramids consecrated to St. John. 

Through this bloom and beauty wandered Violet of Leigh, 
each instant with a more sickening sense of desolation and 
fatigue. Unaccustomed to such long exertion, every nerve 
and muscle ached sorely from the long strain. A refuge 
she must find at once, or fall by the way. 

A neat cottage was near, facing the river, and surrounded 
by a rose-garden. A tall, very trim, neat woman leaned on 
the gate, and, though her sharp face was anything but com- 
forting, Violet timidly perf erred her request. 

“ Had she a spare room for a boarder, for a night or a few 
days?" 

“ A room!" cried the woman, shrilly. “Not I. What 
has one to think of a pretty young miss wandering about 
the country in a silk gown and a Paris hat? I know better. 
Pve been a lady's maid, and " 

Violet staid to hear no more; a flood of crimson dyed her 
pallid face at the implied insult. Had she, Violet Ainslie, 
Countess of Leigh, fallen so low as to be taken for a vagrant, 
and spurned by an ex-lady's maid. Maddened by humilia- 
tion, she hurried along with renewed force until, hearing 
steps closely pursuing her, she turned abruptly, and looked 
into a face young and gentle as her own." 

Violet was looking at a young girl of plain but sympa- 
thetic face. The stranger had on a blue check gown, and 
a straw bonnet woven by her own hands. She was slender 
and neat in appearance, and while evidently a cottager, like 
many on the Leigh estates, had the air of one used to the 
ways of the town. 

“Were you looking for a lodging?" she asked, gently. 

“Yes," said Violet, hurriedly. “I was looking for a 
friend. I have missed her, and lost my way, and I am so 
tired, I can hardly move. I am frightened, too, for I am 
not used to — being by myself." 

“ I can give you a lodging," said the girl. “ I am alone 


158 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


in my cottage — it is just near. There are only two of us 
left, and father is night hand this month. Our place is 
little, but it is clean and safe.” 

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Violet. I would 
pay ” 

“ I don't do it for pay — but — because you are young, and 
seem in trouble, and I like to do what I can. I had a sister 
once; she died; it is for her sake.” 

Then seeing Violet was faint and trembling, she took her 
little bag from her, and drawing her hand through her arm, 
led her to a tiny cottage, very old, and covered with hop 
vines. 

The young girl placed Violet in a chintz-cushioned 
rocking-chair. She took off Violet's hat, loosened her 
dress, brought water, and bathed her feet, doing all simply 
and quietly. She looked a little surprised at Violet's costly 
silk hose and fine French boots, but said nothing until she 
had undressed her exhausted guest, and put upon her the 
night-dress which Violet took from the embroidered bag. 
The richness of the cambric garment evidently puzzled the 
young hostess, but she was still silent, and opening one of 
the beds, said, as she shook up the clean, white pillow, and 
turned over the snowy sheet: 

“ It is as sweet as ever can be, miss; you need not fear.” 

“ Indeed, indeed, I am very grateful,” said Violet. 

“ Once you are easy in bed, I will make you a cup of tea, 
and a bit of toast,” said the girl, but before she did this she 
shook out, dusted, and folded all Violet's clothes. Then 
she made a fire, and prepared tea and toast for Violet, and 
porridge for herself, chatting freely of her own affairs, as 
cottage maidens will, but showing a singular delicacy about 
asking questions of Violet. 

“ I work in a factory in town,” she said. “ I'm the last 
one of our family father has left. Father works at the 
station. We were six once, but now only two. I'm keep- 
ing company [with a young man, and we mean to be 
married as soon as we have saved enough to furnish us a 
little house where father can live with us, and when Joe 
gets advanced in the factory. I am Mary Miller, at the 
box factory in Derby. In the morning I am off by five, 
but you needn't rise till you are rested. I'll leave you 
some breakfast, and you must sleep till you are done. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


159 


You have only to shut the door when you go out; no 
one ever meddles here — we've naught to lose." 

Then the tea was brought to Violets bed, almost as 
nicely as Kate could have done it, and surrounded by 
this Arcadian simplicity, Violet fell into a troubled, aching 
sleep. 

Her slumber deepened toward morning. When she 
finally woke the sun was high, and Mary Miller was gone. 

Violet sat up in bed and looked about. Evidently she 
must leave this quiet shelter, but where should she go, 
what should she do? The sleep, the silence, gave her 
strength for reflection. She would go to the nearest vil- 
lage or town, seek board or lodgings, and as soon as she 
could secure a room to sit down in, and material for 
writing, she would write at once for Kate — good, kind, 
sensible Kate, her life-long friend — Kate would tell her 
what to do, and Kate would take care of her. She rose 
and dressed. Mary Miller had left a glass of rich new 
milk and a slice of brown bread on the table for her. 
Violet drank the milk, and then, pinned a sovereign in- 
side Mary's pillow-case, where no stray caller would be 
likely to find it, but Mary surely would. She looked with 
filling eyes at the tidy, humble home, where she had 
found such Christian treatment; she remembered how it 
was written, “ I was a stranger and ye took me in," and 
she felt that the “ blessing of one ready to perish " would 
come home to the gracious factory maiden. 

“ I will help her," she said, “ as soon as I am once 
more safe and settled; I will send a hundred pounds to 
Mary, and she shall marry the man she loves." 

The thought of making another happy cheered Violet. 
She went out once more with better courage. 

The morning was fresh, dewy, lovely; the' day promised 
heat, but now all was fair and sparkling; a dainty breeze 
stirred Violet's stray rings of hair, and dried the tears on 
her cheeks. 

For a little while hope sustained her in her way, hope 
of shelter, of soon summoning Kate, who could “take 
care of her" — and oh, how she needed care, how ill and 
worn she felt! 

The sun climbed apace to the zenith, the breeze died 
away; Violet's tottering limbs and blistered feet could 
hardly carry her. She had not gone so very far, though 


160 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


it seemed miles and miles. Her head reeled, sharp, 
fierce pains shot through her arms and back, and finally, 
with a low cry, she threw up her hands, and groping 
blindly, fell, in blessed unconsciousness of her misery. 

The spot where she fell was a little copse of hazel 
hushes and ferns; the great verdant brake and the tender 
hazel leaves leaned over her and sheltered her; bees 
hummed her a slumber-song; butterflies swayed above her 
in the warm, golden air. She came a little from her swoon, 
not enough to realize herself, and her mind was full of the 
Lincolnshire woods, the cool, deep retreats about the old 
Grange, and she saw again the face of Kenneth, her lover, 
and she heard his voice murmuring sweet words that she 
had a right to hear, and his hand touched hers, and she was 
sheltered, and happy, and at rest. She knew not these 
were drifting, fevered dreams, and that her pillow was but 
green brake, not Kenneth's heart, and that it was a truant 
butterfly that lightly touched her hand, and she was lost 
and alone, fallen wounded by the rough wayside of life. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“OH! WHAT HAVE I DOHE?" 

The sun that shines on, over all human joy and pain, had 
reached and passed mid-heaven. The insects whirred tire- 
lessly on the grasses, but the birds had stolen to the leafy 
shades, and the flowers drooped in the heat, while Violet 
still lay unfriended in her covert. She tossed and moaned, 
and then began to babble in a fevered dream. Out upon 
the still air went the words of her complaining: 

“ Why does no one care for me? Why do they all deceive 
me? Oh, I am so alone, so alone! I am lost and afraid. 
Why don't I die?" 

These moanings reached, at last, a human ear. A 
woman, old and plain, but singularly large-framed, erect, 
and vigorous, a cottage woman, in a white cap, a check 
linsey gown, and a great white apron, was passing by. She 
stopped at the unexpected sounds, then followed whence 
they came, and finally parted the green branches, and looked 
in on Violet in her ferny nest. 

“Goodness save us!" cried the dame, “who are you, my 
little pretty, and where ever did you come from?" 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


161 


“ Kenneth! Kenneth! Have you forgotten me?” cried 
Violet. 

The old woman bent down and moved Violet gently. 

“ Whoever you are, my dear,” said the old woman, “you 
need to be taken care of quick and well, or into your grave 
you will go.” 

# So she gathered Violet up in her strong arms, as if the 
girl had been a mere child, and she did not neglect to slip 
the handle of the bag over her wrist, and take the silk um- 
brella in her hand. 

Not vainly had Mistress Magery Rogers been called “ the 
strongest woman in all Derbyshire.” She carried her own 
sixty years, and the slender figure of the Countess of Leigh, 
as if both were trifles, and with long, firm steps, she passed 
the hazel hushes, and turned into a narrow path, and so to 
a small thatched cottage. Here she entered. A great dog, 
gray and heavy with age, met her, and there also came a big, 
tortoise-shell cat. These were her only retainers. A bed, 
with a white fringed counterpane, stood in one corner, and 
on this she laid Violet, and began at once to undress her. 
As she took off one article after another of the dainty cloth- 
ing, she exclaimed: 

“ Why, this must be a princess at least! Did one ever 
see the like? Sure, this petticoat is like a wedding-gown, 
and here's one might be good enough for a christening- 
robe.” 

She had hung up Violet's bag, and seemed to have no 
thought of looking into it, but when she wanted a night- 
dress, went to a chest of drawers that stood in a corner, and 
took from it a gown carefully laid up in lavender. No 
nurse could be more skillful and gentle than this strong 
cottage dame, and under her ministrations Violet, cooled, 
soothed, calmed, fell asleep. 

The dame looked at her in her deep slumber— so fair, so 
helpless, so like a little child — and shaking her head, said: 

“ Here's a mystery, here's a mystery! However, she must 
be well cared for; and as I need things from the 'pothecary 
and shop. I'll go out again. I wonder if I shall meet any 
more lost princesses! It's like the fairy tales I used to tell 
the children. Heaven send her sound sleep till I get 
back!” 

So, shading the windows, the dame went out, gently 
closing the door. 


162 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Quiet, quiet, was the warm May day, a true forerunner 
of the summer. Violet had passed in the second hour of 
her slumber, when a stealthy step came around the cottage; 
the door was softly pushed open, and a queer figure entered 
the still room — a short, spare man, in a flannel dressing- 
gown, carpet slippers, and with a velvet cap pulled forward 
to his bushy eyebrows, giving his face a singular, sinister 
appearance. His beard was long and ragged, as if never 
visited by razor or scissors; his eye had the wildness of in- 
sanity. 

He went straight to the dame’s work-basket; and not 
finding what he wished, jerked open the table-drawer. 

The noise woke Violet, whose slumbers had from child- 
hood been carefully guarded. She lifted herself on one 
elbow — her beautiful hair disheveled over her shoulders — 
and seeing the strange, humble cottage room, the coarse if 
clean bed, and the grotesque man, she gave a scream. 

The man whirled about, and stood looking at her, as if 
highly delighted. 

“ Who are you?” shrieked poor Violet. 

“The wolf, my angel, the wolf! and you are dear little 
Red Riding Hood, asleep in her grandmother’s bed! Your 
grandmother is out, isn’t she? Hope she’ll never come 
back. Meanwhile I can eat you.” 

He showed a double row of great white teeth, gleaming 
from under his mustache. Violet had never seen anything 
so hideous. She was so frozen with horror that she could 
neither move nor speak. 

“See my head! Handsome, ain’t it?” cried the man, 
and snatching off his cap, he showed a shaven portion of 
scalp with a great red scar across it. “Looks as if an 
Indian had got after me, don’t it? Where does your fool 
grandmother keep her knives? Here’s one! Shall I do it 
for you, or for me, or for both of us?” 

Violet gave an agonizing shriek. A loud and clear voice 
from without answered her: 

“ Coming!” 

The man dropped the knife, and crept under the table. 

“How did you get here?” cried Dame Magery, dashing 
in, and dragging him forth. “This was a time for you to 
break out! You’re trickier than Satan, indeed you are.” 

She marched him off — he making no resistance. Pres- 
ently she returned to the trembling Violet. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


163 


“ He's safe, my dearie. He’ll trouble you no more.” 

“ Oh, who is he? Who is the fearful creature?” 

“ J ust a crazy man I’m in charge of. And he is well 
shut in now. Fear him no more. There, he is sent off.” 

“But who are you?” asked Violet, clinging to the strong 
brown hand. 

“ Fm Dame Magery Rogers. I found you fallen in the 
field, and a bit feverish and light-headed. Come now — 
drink what is in this cup, and lie down to sleep. Fll not 
leave you. There, my dear; you are as safe as a child on 
its mother’s lap, and welcome as flowers in May. Lie there, 
and I’ll sing to you.” 

She put Violet back on her pillow, and began to sing. 

As the verses crooned on, Violet fell asleep. She slept 
most of the time until next morning. When she awoke, 
the episode of the crazy man seemed to her a dream of her 
fevered sleep. 

The dame waited on her with motherly care, and after 
she had eaten her breakfast, Violet lay back: on her pillow, 
with a great sense of rest and comfort. Only there was 
that dream — or was it a reality? She spoke: 

“ Will you please tell me if there is a horrible crazy man, 
or did I dream it?” 

“You’ve had many ill dreams,” said the dame, evasively. 
“There’s no one here to harm you, my pretty; you are 
safe.” 

“How kind and strong you look!” said Violet; “but I 
seem to know your face — it looks familiar.” 

“ I used to be a nurse. My family are dead, and now I 
live alone.” 

“ I should like to stay here — for a long, long while,” said 
Violet. “Would you let me stay with you? I will make 
you no trouble. I shall be quite well by to-morrow, and I 
know well how to wait on myself.” 

“Where is your mother, child? demanded' the old 
woman. 

“ Dead long ago, or I should have gone to her. I would 
not have needed to go away at all, if I had a mother or 
father or any one to love me or take care of me.” 

“ No one to love you, my little dear. Sure there is some 
one who ought to love you well.” 

“ Yes, but he doesn’t; no one does. I don’t know what 
it is in me, that no one can love me, or be true to me,” 


164 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ But you should make people do their duty by you, my 
poor little dear." 

“ I can't — I've tried — it is no use. It made me so des- 
perate, that I felt as if |I must run away from them all. I 
like it here, it is so quiet, and you look so kind and so true. 
Won't you let me stay? I'll pay you. I have some money. 
There are a hundred pounds in that bag hanging on the 
hack of your chair." 

“A hundred pounds! Save us! I never saw so much 
money in my life, at once!" cried the old dame, jumping up 
and eying the bag in awe. 

“ Oh, that is not much — but — it will take care of me for 
a month or so, won't it — till I get strong, and earn more?" 

“ A month or two! How ever have you been living, 
child?" 

“ Why, like the rest of the people around me, I suppose. 
I never learned much, nor did much but amuse myself, and 
go about, and enjoy music, and flowers, and pictures, and 
fine things. I suppose it is as the French say. I have been 
a rose, and lived as roses live, but I can do differently." 

The old woman respectfully took the gray plush bag and 
laid it by Violet's side. Violet was ready to open it at once, 
saying: 

“I will give you the money; only I must get some 
changes of clothes, a very few, not costly; and by the time 
the rest is gone .1 will earn some more. People do earn 
their living, and so can I — I can learn. You will tell me. 
Are there not ways? It will not take much to support 
me." 

“ But it will be long before you can begin, my dear." 

“ Oh, no; I will begin at once — next week. I can em- 
broider, and make lace; and I could teach music to little 
children, maybe. Why, any young girl can support herself. 
How much does one need ?" 

“But two, my dear — two needs more." 

“ Two, certainly. But there is no question of two — only 
of me. Kate could do for herself. But if you will keep 
me, maybe I'd not send for Kate; so it is only one." 

“ But there may be a little child, my dear." 

‘‘ No, no," said Violet; “ I've done hoping for that. It 
might have made things right; but it's too late." 

“My dear, have you run away from your friends?" 

“Yes, I have. I could not endure the deceit, the " 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


165 


“ And will you tell me your name, my dearie?” 

“ Fd rather not — only Violet.” 

The dame shook her head. 

“ My dear, you should go back, and set things right — if 
not for yourself, for the little child, you know.” 

“But there isn’t any child!” cried Violet, pettishly. 

“ But there will be, my dearie, after a little. Surely you 
think of that! Surely you know that!” 

Violet seized her arm. 

'“ Tell me! Do you mean — do you think I am to have a 
ehild? — a little child of my own? Quick — speak!” 

“ Why, certainly — sure, you know ” 

But the little Countess of Leigh had fallen back in her 
pillows, covered her face with her hands, and burst into 
a flood of tears. 

“Oh, what have I done!” 

“Hush, hush, my dear! Don’t take on so! Oh, pray 
think of that little child! Be calm, my dear. You are so 
young, so sweet and pretty, surely you can make it all 
right. You will go back; you will have justice done to 
you; you will not bring shame on the little child; you will 
be married to the father, my dear! Bad man he must be to 
deceive a child like you!” 

But Violet had started up in bed, with flaming eyes and 
a crimson face. She cried out: 

“How dare you! What do you mean? Oh, how can 
you be so wicked! Do you mean to say you think I am not 
married?” 

“You have run away alone,” said the old dame; “your 
hand has no ring on it.” 

“Judged me by my rings! Oh, you wicked woman, to 
think ill of me just for that!” cried poor Violet, furiously 
tearing away in a frenzy at the plush bag, and, tossing on 
the floor the laced night-robe, and the soiled silk hose, and 
the change of cambric, and a fluff of kerchiefs, and then 
she shook the bag out and rolled on the counterpane before 
the amazed old dame, a watch and chain, some sovereigns, 
a jeweled brooch, and a heap of rings. From these she 
snatched two, the half-hoop engagement-ring and the un- 
happy gold shackle that had sealed her bitter fate at St. 
George’s: and thrusting them on her finger, she held out a 
little quivering hand, saying: 

“Now are you satisfied? I took off the hateful things' 


166 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


for fear of being robbed; but here they are, and I hope 
you’ll not think so ill of me! And you may believe that 
my little baby will be as good a baby as ever was born in this 
world T 

“Oh, my dear, my little dear!” said the dame, bending 
over her, “it joys my heart to hear this, for I have been 
sick of soul for your care ever since I brought you in;” and 
tears rolled over her old cheeks. 

Violet threw np her arms and clasped the wrinkled neck. 

“Forgive me! Please forgive me! I will love you for- 
ever. Are you sure, very sure, about — about ” 

“Yes, sure as sure, if you don't do yourself an ill 
turn.” 

“But what have I done? Oh, what have I done by 
running away?” 

“ You'll send for your friends and explain all, and no 
one will blame you — they'll make all right for the child's 
sake, my dear. It will never do to keep on in aught that 
might shame or hurt your baby, my sweet. By these rich 
things, you come of good family.” 

Violet was fumbling among her trinkets. She said: 

“I forgot; the money is not here. It is sewed in my 
dress. I will do whatever you tell me. My husband doesn't 
love me; but, for the child's sake, he may let me come back. 
Oh, I hope he will! I don't want my poor little child 
turned out of its rights.” 

“And now, my lovey, for the child's sake, you'll tell me 
your name, won't you ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Violet, readily. “ I am Violet, Countess 
of Leigh, from Leigh Towers, Sussex.” 

But, to her amazement, the old dame flung herself over 
the bed, gathered her in her arms, rocked her on her bosom, 
and lamented over her, and loved her. 

“Oh, my lady, my own . sweet lady! Oh, my dear 
little mistress! Thank God, who sent you to me, my 
dear!” 

“But who are you?” said Violet, when the dame's eager 
words gave way to sighs and silence. 

“My dear lady surely knows Adam Moreland?” 

“Lord Leigh's valet? Indeed yes — good old Adam.” 

“Iam his twin sister Magery, and I lived at the Towers 
till I was eighteen, and came away with Lady Fanny Leigh 
when she married, and now I live on a pension she left me. 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


167 


Adam has told me about the sweet young lady my lord mar- 
ried; and, indeed, my dear lady, I guessed as much as you 
were not happy, but I never dreamed it would come to that 
you should fly away by yourself, sick and miserable, with 
only what you carry in your hand. Surely, my lord is not 
so cruel to you as that?” 

“No, no. I see all, Magery; it is my own fault. I have 
been hasty, and foolish, and impatient. Oh, I have been 
wrong. I have thrown all away!” 

“No, no, my dearie!” said the old woman, soothingly. 
“ My lord will be most anxious for you, and for fear for 
the child ” 

“But he does not know about that, nor did I.” 

“ Then, my lady dear, as soon as he hears of that he will 
be proud and kind, and never be a word angry for your 
running off. The hope of the little one will be your peace- 
making. No doubt you were a wee out of your head when 
you went.” 

“ No, no, I was not,” said Violet, seizing the hand of 
the old family retainer, and pouring out all her heart; 
“ but I was so wretched and lonely. My husband does 
not love me, and his words and looks hurt me; and I felt 
as if all my friends were forgetting me. And then, there 
was one — she seemed to be my friend — she kept urging me 
to go.” 

“ The wicked sinner!” broke out Dame Magery Rogers. 
“ She had her own purpose in it, Fll be bound.” 

“ Fve no doubt she did. She was as false as the rest. 
She promised to meet me, and she did not; she left me to 
be forlorn and lost, looking for a place that never was; and 
she will put Norman against me.” 

“ Hush, my dearie, don't vex yourself. Nothing will 
put him against you, with a child looked for. The Leighs 
are wonderful anxious for countenance, always.” 

“ Yes, Norman is very desirous of a son,” said Violet. 

“And a son there will be,” said the dame, courageously. 
“Such a beauty as never was, I'll be bound.” 

But poor Violet must pour out her whole story. 

“ It was not Lord Leigh alone, Magery, that drove me 
wild. It was — there was a lady — such a lovely girl I had 
come to love her more than I had any one else in my life, 
but one; and she deceived me, in her name and her friend- 
ship, and all. If Edna Ambrose had not deceived me, I 


168 A BEAUTS BITTERNESS. 

could have endured. Oh, Edna! Edna! how could you be 
so cruel?” 

“ But you must be quiet, my dear lady; and hark to me 
— Miss Ambrose never deceived you, sure. Some one has 
lied about her. It is not in her to deceive. She is like an 
angel out of heaven. You could trust her to the world's 
end. My lady, Adam and I are dear to each other; and 
we write long, long letters, and he comes twice the year to 
see me, and knowing me true to the house of Leigh, and 
never one to talk out of it, he has told me many things, 
else he would not mention. I can tell you the whole story 
of Miss Ambrose, my dear lady; and you'll see she could 
not deceive any one, nor come between husband and wife.” 

Then Dame Mageey sat down by the bed, and placing 
Violet comfortably on her pillows, she smoothed her 
hair and fanned her, and in a low, pleasant voice, with 
tender looks and words, she told the story of Edna Am- 
brose; of all she had been and wished to be, as old Adam 
knew all, who had often seen her, who distributed her 
bounty to country and city poor, and who reverenced even 
the shadow of the beautiful and gracious girl. When the 
story was ended Violet gave a deep sigh. 

“ Dame, how rash and wrong I have been. Bring me 
paper and pen, and I will write to Edna to come to me.” 

“No, my dearie; write me a telegram out, and I'll go to 
Belper with it this blessed hour.” 


CHAPTER XL. 

“oh, edha! edna! have you come to me?” 

The telegram which Violet sent to Edna ran thus: 

“ Come to me at once. Bring Kate, and some clothes. Say not a 
word till you see me. Come to Belper, in Derbyshire. 

“ Violet L.” 

This potent message found Edna in deepest grief. The 
news of Violet's disappearance had overwhelmed her with 
distress, which was intensified by Lord Keith's agony. 

Lady Burton was ill, and the horrible disappearance of 
her beloved Violet was sedulously concealed from her. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


169 


Since Violet fled, affairs had gone thus: Voilet fled on 
Tuesday morning, and on Friday evening, about six, the 
dispatch was handed to Edna. On Tuesday, at nine 
o'clock, Kate, going to her lady's room, had found her ab- 
sent. This surprised her; but, seeing that a simple walk- 
ing suit was gone, she concluded her lady had been restless, 
and had taken a sudden notion to stroll in the green park. 
Lord Leigh breakfasted about eleven, and made no remark 
at not seeing- Violet, as several times of late she had taken 
breakfast in her room. As Violet was still absent at lunch- 
time, Kate, though uneasy, fancied she had gone to Lady 
Burton's, and was lunching there. But Violet was going to 
an afternoon tea with Lady Grace Churchill, and, as she 
did not return in time to dress, the faithful maid became 
greatly alarmed. She went to Lord Leigh, when he came 
in, and' told him she did not know where her lady was, and 
was frightened. He replied, roughly, that “the countess 
was not a babe in leading strings, and that Kate was a fool. 
No doubt Lady Leigh was visiting her Aunt Ainslie." The 
anxious Kate went to Mrs. Ainslie's, and found, from her 
chief friend among the footmen, that Lady Leigh had not 
been there that day. She waited a while, and then, in an 
off-hand manner, while seeming to be merely on an errand 
among the maids at each house, discovered that the young 
countess had not been at the Countess Montressor's, at 
Lady Clare Hartington's, or Lady Churchill's. 

Lord Leigh spent the evening in the House of Lords, and 
slept at his club. Kate spent a night of agony, and on 
Wednesday morning, as Violet was leaving Bedford, Kate 
went to Lady Burton's to tell her story to Miss Haviland. 
Up to that time no one had a hint of the disappearance of 
the young wife. 

Edna, terribly alarmed, called Lord Keith to hear Kate's 
tale, and Keith went off to find Lord Leigh, whom he suc- 
ceeded in reaching about noon. 

Leigh went into a paroxysm of fury at the story. He 
loudly rated his lady's childishness, folly, melancholy, 
idiocy. When he had exhausted himself, Kenneth told 
him that illness, accident, or strange and terrible villainy, 
must have overtaken Lady Leigh; and that it behooved 
them to seek for her promptly and quietly, and not occasion 
a scandal. 

“Never a wife disappeared," said Keith, “but her hus- 


170 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


band was blamed for it, and all his affairs searched out. 
Can't you see, Leigh, that you should be quiet and busy?" 

Leigh took this hint. It touched his selfishness and his 
family pride. He called Adam to the conference, and 
Adam said that his lady had spoken several times of Leigh 
Towers, and the people there, and had said she must go 
there and stay a day or two. 

“Depend upon it, she is there," said Leigh. “ Let Adam 
go down after her." 

Adam went, and returned on Thursday morning at two 
o'clock, saying Lady Leigh had not been heard from at the 
Towers. 

When Adam returned, Lord Leigh was not at his man- 
sion, but at a suite of chambers near the “ Albany," a re- 
treat which he had had in his bachelor days, and now often 
used during the Parliamentary season. Left alone, after 
Adam's communication, he paced up and down his sitting, 
room in great distress and excitement. The flight of Violet 
must presently be made known, and the myriad eyes of so- 
ciety would be turned on him. Even the detective police 
might be called into service — and who could tell with what 
results of investigation? 

“My lord, there's a lady to see you. She is that Miss 
Hope — that — you knew in — Cornwall," said Adam, re- 
turning. 

“Away with her! I won't see her!" cried Leigh, fu- 
riously. 

“ My lord, she says it is important. She may bring you 
word of my lady." 

“She! How could she? Lady Leigh did not know 
her." 

“If you please, my lord, she is Mrs. Ainslie's gov- 
erness, and has often brought the little misses to see my 
lady." 

“ Send her in," cried Lord Leigh; and, dropping on a 
divan, put his elbows on his knees, and his face in his 
hands. 

Some one sat down by him, and tried to draw away his 
hands. Helen Hope's voice whispered: 

“Norman, Norman, speak to me. I have come. Your 
wife has left you — but I am here." 

“And I would you were anywhere else,” retorted Leigh. 
“Who asked you here? Why do you haunt me?" 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


171 


“ Because I am resolved that you shall fulfill your old 
promise, and marry me. You promised, on the cliff in 
Cornwall." 

“I did not. If I did, I nested. Marry you! Woman, I 
have a wife." 

“But she has left you. She is either dead, or gone 
with a lover. In either case you are free. If she has 
fled, you must divorce her. What matter? You do not 
love her." 

“But, fiend, if I am indifferent toiler, I hate, abhor 
you !" 9 

“You call me names; you loathe me; and yet the more 
I love you," said Helen, madly. “ Such love as mine must 
create love. Oh, Norman, you are free of her! Give me 
one word of love, of hope." 

“Helen, you are insane! If I were free — as I am not — 
to choose a wife, you know well where my heart would be 
laid." 

“ Before Edna Ambrose? Too late. She is betrothed to 
the Marquis of Alwood. He offered himself at the Duchess 
of Grafton's ball, Tuesday night. Mrs. Ainslie told me. 
She saw them in the conservatory together. She said she 
knew it all." 

Leigh rose to his feet, livid with- jealous rage. He quiv- 
ered as in a strong agony. 

“He shall not have her — never, never! I will " 

“Kill him, too? A second murder?" hissed Helen. 

“Murder? Woman?" 

He reeled back from her. 

“ Where is the man that came to you , with fatal proof, 
in ‘The Earl's Folly?"' said Helen, in a deep, low tone. 

“That man? He is nothing to me. Where should he 
be?" 

“ Norman Leigh, you know where he is!" 

“ Never, never!" said Lord Leigh, passionately. “ I never 
laid a finger on him, as Heaven is my witness!" 

“Perjurer! false, forsworn — murderer! And yet I love 
you. I only will stand by you — and help you hide your 
crime /" 

“ There is no crime to hide," protested Leigh, cold beads 
running over his contorted face. 

“ I leave you — I wait," said Helen, and glided away. 

She was scarcely gone when Lord Keith came in. He 


172 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


was distracted by Leigh’s indifference, in regard to the 
search for his wife. “I warn you, Leigh,” he said, “that 
as an Englishman and a peer, it will be my duty to notify 
the police if Lady Leigh is not found within a week.” 

“I am going to Sussex myself to look for her,” said 
Leigh. 

Edna passed the time in self-reproach, findiug the 
cause of Violet’s flight in her own concealed name. Then, 
in the dephts of her despair, she received the dispatch, and 
telling Lady Burton that she had been called to a friend 
in distress, bade her “good-by for a day or twb.” Her 
preparations were swift and simple. Then she wrote a note 
to Keith, and gave it to his valet to hand him as soon as 
he returned, about midnight, as he had promised. The 
note ran thus: 

“ My Feiend and Bkotheb : Stop your search, and keep silence 
until you hear from me, within twenty-four hours. I think light has 
come, and all will be well. Edna.” 

She sent for a cab so that her movements should not be 
known in the house, and going to Lord Leigh’s, found 
that he was in Sussex. This suited her, for she had no 
idea of explaining to him; but taking Kate into her con- 
fidence she explained as far as she could and they packed 
a portmanteau of clothes, and Violet’s dressing case. Again 
in a cab, they went to King’s Cross Station, and with 
hearts divided between hope and fear, the loving friend and 
the faithful maid rode northward through the brief sum- 
mer night. 

Mistress Rogers, calculating the time of trains care- 
fully, was sure Miss Ambrose would reach Belper early 
in the morning, and had instructed her friend, the sta- 
tion master, to have a gig in readiness to take her to the 
cottage. 

When Edn% and Kate alighted from the train, they were 
met by an elderly man, saying: 

“ If you are Miss Ambrose, there is a gig waiting for 
you.” 

The May morning was sweet and bright, the birds sang, 
the flowers were all abloom. Dame Rogers’ cottage, with 
its heavy stretch, where the buttercups and daisies were 
blooming high in air, the drapery of vines, the golden 
frame of nasturtium flowers, made a pretty picture of peace. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


173 


The tall old dame, clean and smiling, sprang into the 
door-way, but Edna, with not a look at her, sprang into the 
room, and toward the bed, where eager arms were held out 
to her, and a loved voice cried: 

“ Oh, Edna, dear, darling Edna, have you come to take 
care of me!” 

Violet was fondly folded in the arms of Edna. Dame 
Magery stood looking on with lifted hands, as if calling 
down a benediction on the happy scene. Kate dropped 
herself in a heap on the floor, clasped her hands round her 
knees, and incontinently burst into tears. This seemed 
to serve as a signal to the rest, and the four delivered 
themselves over heartily to the feminine occupation of 
weeping. 

Finally, relieved from a mental strain which had 
lasted for four days, Edna recovered herself, and tenderly 
caressing Violet's pretty head, asked: 

“ Oh, my little darling, why did you do it?” 

“ I was so unhappy,” whispered Violet, hiding her face 
by putting Edna's soft, white hand over it. “1 thought 
no one loved me, and — and that you had deceived me — 
about the name — and all.” 

“ I see my error. I own I was very wrong. I did not 
mean to be,” said Edna. “I longed to help you. I have an 
old sisterly kindness for your husband, and I want him to 
be a good, happy man, and I saw you, one day last sum- 
mer, asleep in a hammock, and I fell in love with you at 
first sight, as they say, and I cannot tell you how dear you 
are to me, and as you had taken a prejudice against me, in 
my name, Ambrose, and would not meet me, I wanted to 
win your love in a name that has been made my own, and 
then tell you the truth, and be your sister and friend all 
your life-long. Say you forgive me, and will be my friend, 
Violet.” 

“ There is nothing to forgive, and my friendship is now 
less than ever worth having. Edna, you see what I have 
done. I have run away like a foolish or wicked woman, 
and now every one will condemn me, and I shall be ashamed 
to show my face anywhere, forever more.” 

“ My dear, you are all mistaken. No person, not even 
your aunts, knew you had run away. Lord Leigh asserted 
that you had gone to the Towers for a few days' rest. Even 
Kate did not know differently until I told her last night. 


174 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


We have kept all from Lady Burton, for fear of retarding 
her recovery. Only your husband, Adam and Lord Keith, 
and I, know it. Do not let that thought worry you.” 

“And — what did they say — or do?” faltered Violet. 

“ They resolved to look quietly for you, for a week. They 
were in terrible distress for you, hut I left a note saying to 
cease search — all was well.” 

“You and — Kenneth are very good to me, Edna.” 

Edna was startled at something in the child's tone. She 
put her hand under the round chin, and turned Violet's 
face to look into her eyes. 

“Do you think there is anything particular between Lord 
Keith and me, Violet?” 

“ 1 think,” burst out Violet, passionately, “ that you are 
both the best people in all the world — and I wish, yes, I do 
wish, you might love each other, and be married, and be 
happy forever.” 

“Poor child; this is self-conquest,” said Edna, as she 
bent down and kissed her; “ but Kenneth has told me all. 
He has buried his heart and his love, since God wills it so. 
But as for me, Violet, Keith will only be to me a brother, 
and I to him a sister. I think I am otherwise attracted, 
dear!” 

“ Don't you just despise me for a weak creature?” sobbed 
Violet. “ I don't wonder Norman can't love me.” 

“ Oh, my dear, but he does love you!” 

Kate and Dame Magery having finished their crying, 
had amicably united in preparing a breakfast. Magery 
was cooking dainty dishes in an out-kitchen, and Kate was 
setting the table in the large room, making various errands 
out to the dame, while Miss Ambrose and Violet talked. 
One of Kate's conferences with Magery was longer than the 
others, and she rushed back from it with a face full of im- 
portance and radiant with joy. 

“ Oh, my dear little mistress, to think it should ever 
be!” cried Kate, seizing Violet's hands, and covering them 
with kisses. “ You're made now, my dearie, and all will 
go well with you, and my lord won't know how to do 
enough for you when we have a fine little earl to show for 
ourselves!” 

“ What!” cried Edna. “ Oh, Violet is this true?” 

“Yes!” said Violet, again having recourse to her usual 
refuge, tears; “ and now I'm frightened to death for fear 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


175 


Leigh will be angry, and won't let me come back— and 
that my foolishness will be the shame and ruin of my little 
child." J 

“ Oh, nonsense, my dear; what are you saying? Why, 
Leigh shall come here himself and bring you back as loving 
as can be." 

“ Never, never!" murmured Violet. 

“ He will, for he must," said Edna, decisively. 

“ Come now, if you please, Miss Haviland," said Kate, 
assuming airs and bustling about, “ my lady is not to be ex- 
cited. She has had over much of it. I must get her dress- 
ed for her breakfast, poor dear lady, she must have on her 
own things." 

Edna, with a laugh, and a fond kiss to Violet, went to 
the kitchen, where she put on a big Holland's apron of 
Dame Rogers' and made a salad, and picked over a plate of 
strawberries, in a style that elicited hearty applause from 
the dame. 

“May I come in?" called the musical voice of Edna, 
after a little; and she entered, bringing a dish of crimson 
berries in one hand, and a plate of delicate bleached salad 
in the other. 

“Why, Violet, my love, you look yourself again." 

Violet held out her hand to her friend. 

“Edna, let me thank and bless you for coming to me. I 
will always love you and take your advice, and never, never 
believe a word against you again." 

“Who was it spoke against me, and told you I w r as Miss 
Ambrose?" asked Edna, looking at her closely. 

“ It was — Helen Hope. She is governess at my aunt's." 

“I am sorry to hear it," said Edna. “ I do not like to 
speak agrinst any one, especially one working for daily 
bread. But Helen Hope is not fit company for you, or fit 
guide for your aunt's children, or safe friend for her daugh- 
ters." 

“If ever I get home, I will try to do good, and' not do 
evil. Norman warned me against Helen Hope. Oh, Edna, 
I promised Lady Burton that I would live for truth and 
honor, and see how I have come out!" 

“ Come to breakfast, my dearie, and henceforth you will 
make better work of it, living for your husband and. your 
child." 


176 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


When breakfast was over, Violet lay back in the big chair 
by the window, and Edna came and sat by her. 

“ Violet, I am going to return to London by the one 
o’clock train. I shall see your husband, and he will come 
here for you, and take you home. Do not look so alarmed. 
He will come in kindness and good faith, and you will re- 
turn with him, and no one will ever know of this little 
truant expedition. He will be here on Monday. Until 
then, you will be safe and happy, and picking up strength 
here, with Kate and our good dame.” 

“ Oh, Edna! I dislike to lose sight of you for one 
minute.” 

“ It will only be for a little, my dear.” 

“But you will be worn out! You traveled all last night, 
and you will go off without rest.” 

“ Happiness rests me — the happiness of finding you. I 
never get worn out when I am doing things for my friends,” 
laughed Edna. 

And so the one o’clock train from Belper carried Edna 
Haviland back to London. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

“HEAR MY PRAYER, NORMAN!” 

Night had fallen over London, with Edna Ambrose, that 
fair maiden knight-errant arrived at Lady Burton’s resi- 
dence. Lord Keith who was pacing frantically up and 
down the library, heard the knock of the cabman, and 
rushed into the hall. He seized Edna’s hand and led her 
to the library, too anxious to utter a word, but his burning 
eyes read in her tranquil, cheerful face good news. 

“It is all right, Kenneth,” said Edna, clasping his hand, 
and her face shining with the reflex of that joy that is in 
heaven over penitent sinners. “ Violet is safe and only 
waits her husband’s going for her, to return to her home. 
Her running off was all the result of the deceitful counsel 
of an enemy. She went in a paroxysm of grief, thinking 
you and I and your mother had deceived her. Now, all 
is well, and I hope for the very best, for her and her 
husband.” 

.“But he — what will he do, or say? I fear he will be in- 
clined to play the brute with the poor child.” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


177 


“ No, he will not. Every step of her way can he traced 
and proved. Kind women have watched over her from the 
first, and she is now with Adam Moreland’s widowed sister, 
a retainer of the house of Leigh. Where is Lord Leigh? I 
must see him at once.” 

“He came back from searching in Sussex this evening 
about five. He seemed worried and angry. I begged him 
to stay here, saying I hoped for news by midnight, but he 
went off angry and grumbling. I will try and find him, 
but doubt if I can. 

In fact. Lord Leigh was not to be found until Sunday 
about church time, when a messenger from Edna brought 
him to Lady Burton’s. Edna was waiting for him alone in 
a little morning-room. 

Though Norman Leigh was alarmed, angered, and dis- 
tressed by the flight of his unloved wife, and the social 
consequences that might ensue, he was yet able to be 
mastered by the one deep passion of his life, and at the 
sight of the beautiful Edna, Violet and her dangers were 
forgotten. 

Edna looked kindly at him; Edna summoned him; 
Edna’s voice fell gently on his ears; Edna’s soft, white hand 
lay in his clasp. In the intoxication of this joy all else 
was forgotten. He coulcb scarcely restrain himself from 
falling at her feet, and protesting his undying, his hourly 
growing adoration. 

“ Norman,” said Edna, in the eager joy of her heart, 
“ I bring you news of your wife — of our Violet!” 

Leigh’s face fell. 

“ I’m glad to hear of her. I hope to save a public search. 
Heaven knows what accusations Keith was looking at me! 
Where is the woman?” 

Edna coldly withdrew her hand, and stepped back from 
him. 

“'Norman Leigh! I will not answer you when you take 
that tone of her whom you promised to love and cherish. 
What was your vow at the altar?” 

Lord Leigh stood morosely dumb. Edna was silent and 
indignant. Nearly five minutes sped. 

“ What shall I say?” demanded Leigh, angrily. 

“ Say — where is my wife?” 

“Where is my wife? if you will have it.” 

“ She is with Adam Moreland’s sister, in Derbyshire.” 


178 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ Let her come home then, until I inquire into her con- 
duct. Who knows what it has been?” 

“ I know, said Edna, sternly. “ I can trace every hour 
of her disappearance. Her conduct has been that of a poor, 
lonely, heart-sick, grieved, disappointed, neglected little 
wife, whose husband has ignored his promise to love and 
cherish her. You must do better, Norman.” 

A mad thought seized Leigh that he could make Violet’s 
flight an excuse for a divorce, and once free, he could cast 
himself at the feet of Edna. 

“ I am not to be deceived,” he said. “ The honor of the 
Leighs is at stake; I will defend it.” 

“ And I will defend your wife!” cried Edna, with wrath. 
“ If you continue your neglect and unkindness to her, the 
world shall know it. Norman Leigh, I take your wife for 
my sister; her cause is mine; she will have a friend in me, 
and a friend neither weak nor afraid.” 

“Oh, Edna! Edna!” cried Leigh, frantically; “in calm 
you are a creature seraphic, in wrath you are magnificent!” 

“Hush!” said Edna; “we are not speaking of me, but 
of Violet. Norman, come here and sit by me in this win- 
dow, while I talk to you. You are showing yourself a man 
far other than I hoped. You are losing all my respect and 
my kindness. Will you not come back to your better self? 
Will you not show a tender and noble manhood? Will you 
not be worthy of your race?” 

“What do you wish me to do?” said Leigh, doggedly; 
but seizing the opportunity to sit by her side, and hear her 
words, deeming them music> even while they condemned 
him. 

“ I wish you first to hear your wife’s story,” said Edna. 
She had no idea of telling what little she knew or guessed 
of the early love of Keith and Violet; that was sacred to 
themselves; but she tried to explain to Leigh Violet’s feel- 
ings, her disposition — warm, tender, jealous, self-distrust- 
ful, suspicious, sensitive, easily forgiving, while easily of- 
fended, inexperienced, sweet, innocent, child-like — a crea- 
ture to cherish, encourage, protect. 

She told how Helen Hope had pursued her and beguiled 
her. 

“ Then it is her own fault,” said Leigh, hotly. “ I told 
her in Paris that she must avoid that woman. If she had 
obeyed me, she would haye been safe,” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


179 


“ Yes; but on your part, you should have told her more. 
You destroyed the power of your prohibition when you pre- 
tended that Helen Hope was a st*ranger. You are yourself 
largely to blame for her further influence.” 

“But what am I to do with a wife who deceives and dis- 
obeys me?” cried Leigh, furiously. 

“ She never meant to deceive you. And you may be sure 
that, in future, she will strive her best to please you. She 
has tried, but have you encouraged her by any response, 
Norman ?” 

“ No, I have not. I am compelled to tell the truth when 
you say ‘Norman* in that way, Edna.” 

“ Well, then, be now all that you ought to be to her.” 

Leigh saw that Edna was resolute. If Violet came back, 
he might further entangle her in some wild action or ad- 
mission. He looked down, and said, sulkily: 

“ Then let her come back to her home, if she wishes, and 
I will inquire into the matter later.” 

“ That is not enough,” said Edna, with engaging sweet- 
ness, laying her fair hand on his arm. “ You will go at 
once to bring her back; go to be kind, consoling, good; 
and merely aecept what she explains, and give her no 
further trouble about what is already an unutterable 
pain.” 

“1*11 never do it in the world!” cried Leigh, hotly. I 
vow ** 

But Edna laid her slender fingers upon his lips. 

“Vow nothing. Hush! — hear me, Norman. Good and 
happy days are in store for you and Violet. She is to have 
a little child, Norman. Think how happy you will both be 
then. Think how you have wished for an heir of Leigh! 
And now, in all your treatment of your wife, will you do 
one thing, speak one word, that will injure the ohild you 
hope for, or one day cause it shame pr sorrow ?” and Edna 
turned away, her face mantled with ldvely blushes. 

Leigh sprang to his feet. He had longed much for a son. 
Was it possible that Leigh should have an heir? He de- 
manded: 

“Edna, what do you say? Is this true? And still she 
dared go away?” 

“ She did not know — not until she reached Magery 
Rogers, Adam’s sister — and now Violet is so grieved and 
penitent for her hastiness. Say, Norman.” She rose. 


180 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


looked him earnestly in the face, and took his hand. “ Say 
you will go there and bring her home; say you will be kind, 
and utter no reproaches, for her sake, for my sake, for 
your child's sake; hear my prayer, Norman." 

Lord Leigh, in his stubbornness, hesitated for a mo- 
ment. But the lovely eyes, the illumined face, the ardent 
words of this charming girl, were wont to raise those who 
saw her to their best possibilities, and so it was with Norman 
Leigh. He felt a new manhood rise within him. Charity, 
grace, nearly a stranger to his soul, entered into his selfish 
heart; an interest in Violet, such as he had never before 
felt, took possession of him; and his pride and some mov- 
ings of parental feeling stirred toward his future heir. 

“It is enough, Edna," he said. “I will go. You have 
conquered. I promise you to be all that you demand. You 
shall be satisfied with me." 

“ Oh, Norman!" cried Edna, happy tears rising to her 
matchless blue eyes. “I knew you would be a good man." 

“ It is you, angel of my life, who mold me into goodness," 
he said, looking at her intently. 

And then a black and terrible thought rose in his soul, 
that he might win Edna by kindness to Violet; that he 
might obliterate the past, secure her esteem and regard, 
and — Violet was but a frail young creature, after all — if it 
should be that a life was paid for a life; and that when an 
heir of Leigh came to the home of his father’s, Violet should 
fade from her sad honors as countess, he might be free to 
win Edna. Perhaps fate was making a way for him to 
achieve his great desire. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

DAME M A G E R Y ' S LODGER. 

Monday morning, and Dame Magery was in her garden 
gathering a bouquet of golden and maroon nasturtiums, 
and blue larkspur, for Lady Leigh's breakfast-table, when 
the latch of her little gate clicked, and turning she saw the 
Lord of Leigh. The old woman turned to him, and in her 
warm fealty to his race, seized and kissed his hand, saying: 

“My lord, my dear lord, welcome!" 

“ I think you have a little astray countess here, Magery?" 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


181 


“ She’s within,” said Magery, in a low voice. 

Violet, hoping almost against hope, buoyed up by Edna’s 
confident promises, had insisted upon rising early, and she 
was already sitting by the window, and arrayed in a pink 
cashmere morning-robe. 

As her husband’s step crossed the humble threshold, she 
rose and beseechingly held out her slender white hands. 
Sweet enough she was, her pleading brown, eyes full of tears, 
the flushes flying swiftly over her artless, child-like face, 
the dark rings of her shining hair ruffled about her brow. 
She held her breath; she did not stir; she could not speak. 

Norman was moved in spite of himself by this young, 
gentle, much-wronged creature, who, by the most venial 
fault, was yet put in the position of a criminal. He held 
out both hands and took hers in a kind clasp. 

“ I am glad to find you safe and sound, child. Now you 
will come home with me?” 

“Oh, Norman! May I?” 

“Yes, certainly! What are you shaking so for, child? 
Sit down again. Home as soon as you like, of course.” 

And stooping as he placed her in a chair, he kissed her 
forehead. 

“ But, Norman, you will feel so embarrassed and ashamed 
of me that I ran away, and how to explain.” 

“Nonsense! Of course, it was the silliest performance in. 
the world, but no one knows of it. It is a dead secret, ex- 
cept to us two, Keith, Edna, and the two servants. Every 
one thinks you taking a rest in Sussex. We’ll go home and 
appear at a ball or two. And mind, you say you have had 
a lovely rest, and feel quite fresh.” 

“I will indeed, Norman. I feel better, and rested, 
truly. Oh, how good you are! I will try not to trouble 
you again.” 

“ I hope you will, I am sure. Such a thing is a hideous 
bore; but, however, we’ll say no morb about it. Eh, Kate, 
that you? Turned cook, and butler, and all? I’m glad to 
see breakfast, and to find your lady looking so well. We’ll 
start home this evening if Lady Leigh feels able to travel. 
You’re not to hurt yourself, Violet, mind that. Your health 
is very important now, you know.” 

Lefgh thought he was behaving very well. 

Violet, in her deep humility and patience, had no fault 
to find with him. Perhaps Keith and Edna would have 


182 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


made large discount on his speeches, but happily no one 
heard them but Kate, and she was too wise to speak, or even 
look any condemnation.” 

“Edna told you?” faltered Violet.” 

“Yes, she did. Jove! It is the best news Fve heard 
for a year. We'll go back to London to-day, appear in 
public for a few times, or two or three weeks, and then we 
had better go down to the Towers. That will be the best 
place for you, Violet. You can take some quiet friends 
along with you — you won't object to Miss Ambrose this 
year, I suppose?” 

“ Indeed no, Norman. I am so ashamed I ever was so 
silly. She is the dearest, loveliest, best. I am never so 
happy as when I am with her.” 

“That's what I think,” groaned the unhappy man to 
himself; and, giving Violet his hand, he led her to the 
breakfast-table. 

They were alone. Dame Magery had gone to the little 
paddock where her pet cow was grazing. Kate was butter- 
ing toast in the kitchen. Lord Leigh was wholly intent on 
serving an omelette placed before him, when a swift step 
crossed the room, and some one noisily dropped into a chair 
opposite the earl. 

Leigh looked up, and saw before him, only the table be- 
tween, the face which last he had seen framed against the 
red sunset in the open casement of “ The Earl's Folly” — the 
face over which he thought the waters of the Black Pool 
had closed forever — the face that had haunted him as his 
victim, but now leered at him as his enemy. 

In his intense amazement he leaped to his feet, but Vio- 
let flung herself in his arms, crying: 

“Norman! Save me from that terrible man!” 

At the same instant Dame Magery rushed in. 

“See my head!” began the man, jerking off his cap; but 
Dame Magery checked him by grasping his arm, saying: 

“ Out on you! Can I never keep you where you belong?” 
and led him away unresisting. 

“ There, there, child — no one will hurt you,” said Leigh, 
releasing himself from Violet's clasp. “ Some half-wit of 
the neighborhood. You will not be harmed.” 

“But I saw him before! I was lying alone; he came 
in and said he would kill me! Magery tried to make me 
think I had been dreaming. She said no one was here." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


183 


“Well, since it is some neighbor man, I don't see but 
she said true enough. There, be calm or you will hurt 
yourself. Drink your tea at once. You see, Violet, what 
comes of recklessly leaving your home. A woman is safe 
under her husband's roof, and there she should stay unless 
he takes her elsewhere." 

“I know it, Norman," said Violet, humble and penitent. 

But when breakfast was ended Lord Leigh said he would 
have a cigar in the garden, and went out to Magery, who 
was weeding her lettuce. 

“Magery, who is that crazy creature?" 

“Indeed, my lord, I don't know." 

“Where did he come from? How came he here?" 

“ Well, my lord, it's no harm to tell you, though I did 
insist to my lady he was a dream. Adam brought him 
here." 

“ Adam, my valet! And what did he say about him?" 

“ My lord, the man was sick and raving, from a great 
cut all along the side of his head. It knocked him clean 
crazy, and he's been crazy ever since. Adam said I was 
such a good nurse he brought him to me. He was a friend 
of his who had got into trouble, and he did not want to 
have him investigated, going to an asylum. So Adam pays 
me for keeping him, and I have him safe in that strong, 
comfortable room off the kitchen. Only lately he has got 
out twice, and I cannot see how he does it." 

“ Had he no luggage, no papers?" 

“No, my lord, only a few new things I think Adam had 
bought in London for him." 

“And when did he come here?" 

“The last day of November, my lord." 

“I think if he does not improve, Adam. must take him 
to Scotland to a good asylum. I fear ~for your safety, 
Magery." 

“ Thank you, my lord." 

On the third day after this, Mrs. Ainslie said to her gover- 
ness at luncheon: 

“ Miss Hope, my niece, the countess, has come home. I 
called on her this morning. She has had a trip to the 
Towers, and is looking as fresh as a rose, and Leigh is so 
pleased and proud you cannot think. There is to be an 
heir there before the year is out — a future earl, Heaven 


184 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


send — and, by the way, the countess wants to see you to- 
morrow at ten. Don't forget." 

After this thunderbolt of news, Helen Hope neither ate 
nor slept, and was in a fury of rage and despair. She found 
Violet alone next morning, lying on the couch in the bou- 
doir. A new dignity, a serenity, a self-poise, a certain 
strength of womanhood had come to the little countess 
through her late experiences. 

“Miss Hope," she said, quietly, “you have acted to me 
a wicked, very wicked part, but my trouble is much of my 
own making in seeing you when I was warned against you, 
and in listening to your crafty tales. You urged me to do 
a thing which you knew was wicked, and which you hoped 
would be fatal to me. You promised to meet me when you 
never meant to do so, and you sent me to seek a place which 
did not exist. God has taken care of me. God guarded 
all my foolish way, and sent me friends and safety. You 
need never see me again, for I have done with you; and as 
I know you are not a fit guide for my cousins, you must 
leave my aunt. If you will give warning, and leave at once, I 
will help soothe her vexation, and will not say a word against 
you. If you will not go, I shall tell her enough to secure 
your dismissal." 

“And then I will ruin you , my fine countess." 

“ At all risk, my cousins shall be saved. Anna was here 
yesterday, and I find you have advised her to elope with 
Gore." 

“ And you consider it a decent act to turn me helpless 
into the street!" screamed Helen, wildly. 

“ Ho. Here are one hundred pounds. Pray go and find 
a place in France, or where I will not know where you are. 
Don't hesitate. Take the money. You are welcome. Try 
and be good." 

“Try and be good!" cried Helen, rising in wrath. 
“Listen — I will bring you to ruin and shame! I will beg- 
gar that child which you are so proudly expecting! I will 
show the world that Norman Leigh is a villain and an im- 
postor, far down on the level of Helen Hope, the foundling. 
I will show that you are no true wife, only a befooled sham 
countess, of a sham Lord of Leigh, and " 

The door opened, and Edna entered, noble and queenly. 

“Silence, Helen Hope! These are idle threats, wicked 
falsehoods. Leave Lady Leigh's presence instantly." 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


185 


“You think I cannot do it? Recall what his mother 
was, and think if it might not be shown that he is no law- 
ful Lord of Leigh. Recall what he has been, and say if I 
am not likely, when I dedicate my life to vengeance, to find 
a wife of his, married before she stood at the altar in St. 
George's.” 

“Edna! Edna! what is she saying?” screamed Violet. 

“Nothing that she can prove — nothing true, my dar- 
ling.” 

“ I will prove it!” cried Helen Hope, and dashed away. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

“BUT WHY DID YOU FOLLOW ME?” 

The morninng after his return from Derbyshire, Lord 
Leigh summoned Adam tojiis private room. He stood in 
the window, looking upon the Green Park, and did not 
turn when his valet came in, and said: 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“ Adam, I tell you, in strict confidence, that your lady 
was in Derby, with your sister Magery, and I have been 
there to bring her home.” 

“ Yes, my lord,” said Adam, in a low tone. 

“ And while there I saw an insane person, whom your 
sister has in charge.” 

“ Oh, did you see him, my lord?” cried Adam, startled. 

Lord Leigh wheeled about. 

“ Adam, how did that man come into your keeping?” 

“ I dragged him out of the Black Pool, my lord.” 

Leigh made a step toward his valet. 

“You did, and you concealed it! Adam, do you know 
that day and night, for six months, I have believed that 
man moldering, a hideous corpse, in the bottom, of the 
Black Pool!” 

“Master, master! It was not you! You never tried to 
kill him!” cried Adam, shuddering back, and turning a 
pallid face on Lord Leigh. 

“ No, Adam, surely I did not. He came to me in “ The 
Earl's Folly,” and was standing in the open window, when 
suddenly he went backward and disappeared. I was spring- 
ing toward him to wrest a paper from him, but I swear to 


186 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


you I had not touched him. I did my best to get out and 
rescue him, but the door was fast, and when I got out, 
there was no trace. Now, Adam, what was your part in 
that?” 

“My lord, when I see you going alone to “The Folly” 
day after day, I am so uneasy I cannot rest. It is not the 
place for you, brooding alone, and I am fearing you will do 
yourself an injury; and, forgive me, my lord, I follow you, 
and hang about the place till you leave it safely. And that 
day, my lord, as I am oldish, and had slept ill the night 
before, I dropped asleep, lying under some alder bushes 
near “ The Folly,” and I had just awaked, dazed like, when 
a man fell from the upper window, and went down in 
the pool, and did not come up or struggle, but went down 
as a man dead when he fell; and, my lord, I thought it 
was you. So I -off with my coat and shoes, and plunged 
in, and I brought the man out, diving down where he 
went. I was a rare one always in the w r ater, and I saw 
it was a stranger, and he seemed dead, and the side of 
his head lay open. There is an archway under one cor- 
ner of “The Folly,” sir, you know, and I laid him in 
there on some leaves, and fled to my room, and got 
brandy, and salts, and plaster, and some old handker- 
chiefs. I hurried and went the short way — not by the 
path. When I got back, “The Folly” was open and 
still, and I laid my man on the lounge there, and nursed 
him that night. In the morning I took him to Widow 
Green’s little cottage. She’s a deaf mute, you know, and 
we had him there part of a week, and then I took him 
to Magery, as his head was healing, and he out of his 
senses.” 

“And you did not connect me with it, Adam?” 

“ Well, my lord, I think the hurt on his head was got by 
striking a stone as he fell, and I think he fell in an epilep- 
tic fit; and I did think of you at first, until I made sure 
you were not in “ The Folly,” but had left while I slept.” 

“ How did you make sure of that?” 

“ I found Miss Hope in the wood, and she told me you 
had ridden by nearly an hour before, my lord.” 

“Adam, who was that man?” 

“ There was a name on his linen, my lord — Bart Kemp.” 

And he had papers in his hands?” 

“ Not a paper, my lord.” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


187 


“ Did you ever hear that name before ?" 

Adam looked down uneasily. 

“ Answer me, Adam. This is a time for frankness. " 

“My lord, it was the name of your mother's first hus- 
band, an Irish attorney.’' 

Lord Leigh gasped. 

“ Then who is this man?" 

“ His son, sir, I think, by a first marriage. He had a 
son of his name, and the boy, I heard, had epileptic fits 
occasionally." 

“Adam, you were a witness of my father's marriage? 
The date?" 

“ The seventeenth of June, 1842, my lord." 

“ And my birth was " 

“ The tenth of June, 1843, master, as registered." 

“ Why do you suppose this man came to look for me?" 

“To get influence or money, on threat of mentioning 
that he was the late Lady Leigh's step-son. He knew you 
would be ashamed of him, my lord. But I think the poor 
fellow will trouble you no more — he is mad. I hid him 
with my sister, to keep a talk about your family from spread- 
ing, my lord." 

Lord Leigh paced the room. 

“Adam, I thank you; you are faithful. I have now, 
more than ever, reason to wish to know that all is right in 
regard to me and my estates. If there is one thing I cher- 
ish, it is my title, my Leigh blood. And now, Adam, I am 
glad to tell you that I hope my earldom is to have an heir, 
of my own line, and Colonel Hartington's boast may 
cease " 

“Oh, my lord! my lord!" cried Adam, with emotion, 
dropping on his knees and kissing his- master's hand, 
“ surely I wish you joy, and may God be good to you, and 
to yours to the latest generation. Oh, now, my dear mas- 
ter, you will cease being moody and unhappy, and you will 
need no excitement, but will find your happiness, as your 
father did, in building up the estate for your heir." 

“ Thank you, Adam," said Leigh, much touched by this 
devotion. “ I will do the best I can, though I feel a curse 
is on me. My blood, Adam, is not all Leigh." 

“And this man Kemp shall stay where he is?" 

“ I think, Adam, that in a fortnight or so, when it is not 
likely that Magery will connect the change with me, I 


188 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


will arrange to have you take him to a private asylum in 
Scotland.” 

Now, indeed, Leigh breathed more freely. The terror of 
a crime was lifted from his spirit. The wish of his heart 
was gratified, when he could tell Colonel Hartington his 
hope of an heir. 

v And Edna had yielded to Violet’s entreaties, and would 
accompany Lady Burton for a fortnight’s visit at Leigh 
Towers. But, after she left the Towers she would be con- 
stantly in the society of Keith and Alwood. To see her was 
to love her, and, no doubt, ere long Edna would be the wife 
of some happier man. 

These thoughts so goaded him that while Edna was at the 
Towers they unhappily found expression. A number of 
guests were at the Towers during July, and Edna had chosen 
that time for her visit, hoping to find safety in numbers. 
She would not have gone at all, only Violet begged so pite- 
ously that she could not refuse, and very happy Violet was 
for that two weeks. 

It was on a lovely moonlight evening that Edna, seeing 
all the circle in the drawing-room well engaged, stepped 
from the long window upon the terrace, and strolled from 
the house. 

Unhappily Leigh, whose furtive gaze followed her con- 
tinuously, had seen her graceful figure steal from behind 
the silken hangings. He was playing chess with Gore, and 
though far the better player, suddenly in two moves allowed 
himself to be checkmated. 

“ What has come to you?” cried Gore, laughing. 

“ Simply charity. I saw Anna alone in a favorable nook 
behind the piano, and I thought it a benign time for you to 
go and do a little courting, I shall steal out and have a sol- 
itary cigar.” 

lie made good his escape, followed Edna by some swift 
instinct, and she started, as in the moonlight, in music and 
perfume, he came to her and touched her hand. N 

“ Edna!” 

“ Oh, Lord Leigh, why are you away from your guests?” 

“ Because one guest, the guest is here.” 

“ But why did you follow me?” she said, turning coldly. 

‘‘ Do you wish — would you prefer it had been another?” 
cried Leigh, in jealous pain. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


189 


“ I certainly prefer to be alone. Since you have come, 
will you take me back to the drawing-room?” 

She turned her steps toward the house, but he stayed her. 

“ One moment. Will you not prolong your visit? Violet 
wishes it very much. I wish it. You are a great help and 
comfort to us. I am never so happy, so able to be my best, 
as when you are here. Will you not stay after Lady Bur- 
toi tes?” 



“ You are kind; but, really, it is impossible.” 

“ Don't say so — don't think so. Stay. My hope, my 
happiness, my safety depend on it. You must stay.” 

“ I really cannot, Lord Leigh,” said Edna, striving to 
move on, but he held her fast. 

“ Do you wish to go? Do you prefer to go?” 

“ Yes. I have made pleasing engagements. I wish 
to fulfill them. Do not detain me in this way, please. 
Lord Leigh.” 

“You cannot go. You shall not go. You drive me mad. 
You will go to the castle, and Keith and Alwood, and 
dozens more, will be sunned by your eyes, blessed by your 
smile, sighing at your feet. By Heaven, Edna, every time 
I look at you, I curse myself for a fool that when you might 
have been mine, I let you go!” 

His voice alarmed her, but she said, firmly: 

“Enough of that. Lord Leigh.” 

“No, no, it is not enough; I must speak — I will. Edna, 
promise me that you will not marry one of them.” 

“ I shall make no such extraordinary promise.” 

“You must, you shall! Oh, say you will not love or 
marry; it would drive me wild!” 

“ This is sheer raving. If it continues I leave your house 
to-morrow. Let go my hand, Lord Leigh.” 

“ Promise, that for five years, for three years, you will 
not marry!” 

“ You must be insane to ask such a thing. What differ- j 
ence could it possibly make to you ?” i 

“ Why, none; yes, all — every difference. To know that 
you loved, to hear of your marriage, would drive me to 
suicide. Oh, give me room for hope, my Edna.” 

“ Koom for hope! What do you mean?” cried Edna in 
terror, starting from him. 

But he fell at her feet; he clasped her with his arms; he 
held her fast. 


190 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ Edna, who knows what may happen? I might one day 
be free! And then — oh, then, if you had not shut the door 
of hope to me, your love might make me good and happy as 
angels are. Oh, wait — wait — until I know what time will 
bring forth to me.” 

“ Wretch!” cried Edna, in excess of horror, “is it possible 
that you are building on the death of that lovely, guileless, 
blessed little darling, the mother of your child? Release 
me, sir! My very soul is sick at such an enormity!” 

“Oh, Edna, cannot you be merciful? can you not see 
that despair, remorse, jealous pain have made me mad?” 

“ I should say you were fit only for a lunatic asylum, 
Lord Leigh, if you can utter such thoughts to me! I came 
here only to satisfy your wife. I hoped that, as God was 
giving you the desire of your heart, mere gratitude would 
make a man, a gentleman, of you; and I never dreamed 
that in one word you could so insult both me and your wife. 
Listen to me, Norman Leigh! Never, never, were we both 
free as air, would I be yours. I would die a thousand deaths 
rather!” 

“Did you not once love me?” 

“No, a thousand times no! A dreaming girl, I loved an 
ideal. Not as you were, are, or can ever be!” 

“Could you never learn to love me, Edna?” 

“No; never! never l never!” 

“One word! Do you, Edna, do you love another?” 

“Yes, yes — Ido!” 

“ Then, go.” 

Edna gathered up her shimmering skirts in her little un- 
gloved hand, and fled along the flower-edged walk toward 
the lighted drawing-room. She was indignant with Leigh, 
but doubly indignant with herself for trusting either his 
penitence or his honor so far as to come under his roof. 
She was resolved to see him no more. She would not ap- 
pear at breakfast. She would leave the house before any 
one of the family rose. She would explain as far as she 
must to Lady Burton, and leave a letter for Violet. It 
would be easy to give as an excuse sudden need of going to 
one of her Haviland relations. 

With Edna to plan was to execute. She gave quiet orders 
to her maid, who packed her boxes, while Edna herself 
went to Lady Burton. 

“You will excuse me to Violet; cover my retreat,” she 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


191 


said; “ stay and console her for a little; but I must go. 
When you go to Keith Castle, if you desire my company, as 
you have said, write me at my cousin's.” 

“ Must you really go, my dear? Has something so serious 
happened that you cannot stay?” said Lady Burton. 

“ It is only this. Lady Burton, that I should never have 
come here. Lord Leigh cannot forget his early folly, his in- 
fatuation. Do you know, I sometimes think he is 
not master of himself — that he hardly knows what he is 
saying or doing! However, I cannot stay to hear protesta- 
tions of love from the husband of my friend and hostess; 
and I shall try never to meet Lord Leigh again.” 

“ I will go to the housekeeper's room, and ask that a car- 
riage be ready early to take you to the station. And you 
will join me when I leave here, and go to the castle with 
me.” 

“ Thank you, yes, dear Lady Burton.” 

“ Edna, have you nothing else to tell me? Remember, 
I try and stand as a mother to yon.” 

“ Is it — about the Marquis of Alwood?” said Edna, look- 
ing down, and flushing “ celestial rosy red, love's proper 
hue.” 

“Yes,” said Lady Burton, with a secret sigh. 

“He did — ask me — to be his wife. Lady Burton.” 

“ And you accepted him?” 

“No,” said Edna, softly. 

“Why, my child? Do you not love him? — do you love 
another?” 

“ I love no other, Lady Burton. I do love him,” said 
Edna, sinking on her knees, and hiding her face on Lady 
Burton's arm. “Now, at last, I think I know what love 
really is!” 

“ And yet rejected him?” 

“ I did not reject him. Oh, Lady Burton, I remembered 
that when in my childish foolishness, and ignorance of my 
own heart, and of what love might be, I thought I loved 
Lord Leigh, and was ready to be his wife, my dear, wise 
father made me wait a year of silence and separation, to 
see if what we felt was love, and would stand the test. 
And, oh, Lady Burton, how I have blessed him for that 
wisdom and prudence. You see, again, I have a suitor, 
socially far above me, one whom the fairest and noblest in 
the land would be glad to win, and I feel so undeserving of 


192 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS . 


that love, and that lofty station. And suppose I should 
accept him, and he should see that he had erred in asking 
me to be his wife, I resolved to do now, that God has 
taken my father away, just as he bade me do when he was 
with me, and I begged Lord Alwood to wait a year, and 
not think of me, but look for some one better, and 
nearer his own rank; to take a year, to be sure that I was 
his true choice.” 

“ And he ” 

“ Of course he protested he would love me better daily; 
but there is no engagement, he waits a year.” 

“ I had hoped it would have been my son.” 

“ Dearest lady, your son’s heart is once and forever given 
to Violet. And as he may not love her, love with him is in 
its grave.” 

“ Poor Kenneth!” sighed the mother. 

“ And poor Violet!” said the girl. 

Before breakfast next day, Violet, her eyes full of tears, 
and with a note in her hand, went to the library of Leigh. 

“ Oh, Norman, I am so unhappy. Edna has left us.” 

“Left us!” cried Leigh, angrily, snatching the note. 

He read between the lines, and knew the reason why. 
His anger would have broken forth, but at that moment 
Adam, who had been sent to Derbyshire, entered the 
library, worn and disordered from the nasty journey'. 

Lord Leigh led Violet to the door, shut it behind her. 

“Well, Adam?” 

“ My lord the man has escaped!” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

“ THERE IS A CHILD AT THE TOWERS. ” 

The summer sped. The guests were nearly all gone 
from the Towers. Mrs. Ainslie, with great self-importance, 
remained. Her own house, children, servants, must get on 
as best they might; she could not leave her dear niece, the 
countess. Henry Ainslie came up from London to see his 
niece; and, after long entreaty, Violet secured from him 
and her aunt a promise that, if no more brilliant match 
offered in the ensuing season, Anna might be free to accept 
Captain Gore. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


193 


Lord Leigh, meanwhile, after the departure of Edna 
with Lady Burton, relapsed into daily deepening gloom. 
He said no unkind word to Violet; he was polite, inquired 
after her health, told her to have, and do, and be, just 
whatever she chose; but he kept his own rooms and the li- 
brary, or wandering over the estates, and was often abso- 
lutely silent during a whole meal. 

The thought of the child upheld Violet. There would 
at last be a love wholly hers, to which she could deliver her- 
self with intense, unselfish devotion. She planned to re- 
main at the Towers, and give up most of the time to the 
absorbing, blessed duties of a mother. 

Mrs. Ainslie had secured a nurse for the heir. She was a 
stout, elderly lookiug woman, with a wig of light hair under 
an ample cap, very dark skin, heavy light brows, and wear- 
ing spectacles of a pale gray grass. 

“ Who is the woman, aunt?” asked Violet, anxiously. 

“Mrs. Dawson.” 

“ And who recommended her to you?” 

“A friend of mine, a very sensible person. Violet, you 
should not be so headstrong. You should leave these 
things to me, as I am a person of large experience.” 

“ But I feel as if some terrible trouble might come to us 
through the nurse,” urged Violet. 

“ That is all nervousness. This Mrs. Dawson is very 
competent; and, if anything can counterbalance your folly 
in insisting on nourishing the child yourself, having her 
will do it. I shall have her waiting in the village.” 

“ She shall not enter the house till the child is six weeks 
old, and I am able to superintend her,” said the little 
countess, contumaciously, and went off to comfort herself 
by sending one hundred pounds each to Dame Magery and to 
comely Mary Miller, who had solaced her in her wanderings. 
****** 

There came a warm, ripe, glowing October day, when the 
earth was steeped in sunshine, and leaf, and blade, and tree 
gave out rich balsamic odors, when suddenly from the high 
towers of the church at Leigh broke forth a jubilant ring- 
ing of bells. The cottage people crowded to the doors, and 
smiled and nodded to each other: 

“ There is a child at the Towers.” 

Then there was a pause, and the chimes in the Towers 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


1^4 

began to ring that old, old strain, “ Summer is a cornin' 
in!”— the tune that always welcomed a new-born Lord 
of Leigh. 

“ There’s a son,” said the women, heartily. “ God bless 
the little earl! How proud that sweet young mother 
will be!” 

There came for Violet a season of rest and peace. Her 
heart overflowed with gratitude, and was exalted with hope, 
as she looked at her beautiful little son. In the infant, 
Rupert, the errors and neglects of his father were forgotten, 
or lost their power to wound. The new king of Violet's 
heart accomplished what she had so long prayed and striven 
for — the banishment of Keith's absorbing image from her 
heart. The child lay in his cradle of rose satin and white 
lace, and Violet feasted her loving eyes on her treasure; as 
the infant, pink and dimpled, slept in her tender arms, and 
her dainty face hourly regained a peaceful, happy look, as 
her wounded heart found at last its deep consolation. 

Leigh was delighted with his heir, and appeared to love 
the child fondly. At first the babe seemed likely to draw 
the parents more closely together, but love of pleasure and 
his evil disposition had too long held empire in Leigh's soul 
to be easily driven out; and, having had the triumph of 
summoning Lady Clare and Colonel Hartington to the mag- 
nificent christening feast, exhibiting the child to the ad- 
miring tenantry, and receiving the congratulations of his 
friends and neighbors, Lord Leigh contented himself with 
the knowledge that he had a promising son and heir, and 
relapsed into his moody and restless condition, going often 
up to London for a week or weeks, when Violet dared not 
think what he might be about, and hourly trembled lest 
there should come bad news from him; and old Adam 
looked at the future Earl of Leigh, and felt sure his father 
was risking his inheritance at the gaming table. 

It was a mid-February night, and the little countess 
could not sleep. The babe was in deep slumber. Violet 
finally rose, put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and 
wandered out into the dimly lighted corridor. She walked 
up and down once or twice/ with swift, soundless step, then 
gazed down the great carved oak staircase into the hall. 

Violet, led by some fascination of half terror, glided 
like a little white ghost, in her trailing robe of snowy cash- 
mere, and moved along the gloomy lower hall, so famous 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


195 


for its carvings and its antique treasures. The library door 
opened from the darkest part of this hall, and suddenly Vio- 
let realized that across the floor of the library lay a band of 
livid light. She had always supposed herself timid, but at 
this sight she grew singularly calm, and neither fled nor 
screamed, but gently stole toward the library. Were there 
robbers in the house? There was a bell-pull near the li- 
brary, that of the largest bell in the building, she remem- 
bered that. 

Since the birth of her child, all Violet's best nature had 
developed itself. She had grown in force of character, in 
dignity, and self-reliance. Becoming a mother, she had 
become, in a fine, noble sense, a woman. So now she 
thought only that some danger menaced the house — the 
house that sheltered her child — and she went quietly toward 
the bar of light. 

Standing in the door-way, she saw that the light fell from 
the door of a large, square, inner closet, which she had but 
once or twice seen opened, but which contained, in drawers 
and on shelves, the private papers of the house of Leigh for 
many generations — letters, copies, journals, all filed — and 
each receptacle labeled and dated. She thought of this in 
a flash, as she saw the light streaming redly in the library 
from the door of this closet, which stood less than half open. 
Also in a flash it occurred to her that ordinary robbers 
would be at the plate closet, or at the great safe. 

Straight to the invaded closet silently moved the slender, 
girl-like form in white, with the silken masses of brown 
hair falling over her shoulders. 

A lamp with a double burner stood upon a shelf. A 
drawer, marked “ '40 — '50," was near the lamp, and was 
open. 

Beside it, intent on running oyer a bundle of papers held 
in her hand, was the head nurse. 

Yet, was it the nurse? Violet knew the long, striped 
flannel wrapper, and the soft, shapely hands of the nurse; 
yet, what strange change had passed over her? Cap, light 
wig, gray glasses, were gone; so were the thick, light 
brows; the skin seemed no longer thick and faded, but was 
smooth olive; the shoulders were well carried. In a word, 
this midnight searcher into family secrets; this felon, whose 
false keys, in black betrayal, lay beside the lamp, brought 
from the lips of the horrified Violet the cry: 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


li>6 

“ Helen Hope!” 

Helen dropped the letters, wheeled about, faced Violet. 

“ Move or speak, and you die!” 

She had a small, shining pistol in her hand. 

As by an illumination Violet remembered that the heavy 
door of the closet had no handle on the inside. 

With a sudden, desperate motion, she shut the door. 

The closing of the door left Violet in utter darkness. 
She had by her swift motion taken her life in her hands, 
and could hardly realize that she was safe, and Helen was a 
prisoner in the strong closet. Either her motion to the 
easily moving door had been too quick and vigorous, or 
Helen had not been able to resolve to fire upon her. She 
had made her a prisoner; what should she do with her?” 

Leigh was in London. Instinctively Violet desired to 
avoid publicity. She stood, cold and trembling, for a few 
minutes, and then, regaining self-control, went up to the 
servants* gallery, and tapped at Adam Moreland's door. 

The old man was wakeful, and he was in his dressing- 
gown and beside her in the hall in an instant. 

“ Dear lady, what is it?” 

“Adam, did you ever see a woman named Helen 
Hope?” 

“Yes; I know of her, my lady.” 

“ She is Lord Leigh's enemy, is she not?” 

“I fear she has much cause. She is a dangerous 
woman.” 

“Adam, she has been herein disguise, as Mrs. Dawson.” 

“Oh, my lady! has she poisoned the child?” 

“Hush, Adam! your little lord is safe; so am I.” 

Then she briefly told the story of her midnight fright, 
and of her prisoner. 

“ My lady, be sure she was looking among my late lord's 
papers for something to injure Lord Leigh. I make no 
doubt she has, for revenge, gone over to Colonel Harting- 
ton's party, to try and harm my lord and his son. She has 
come for that. She had the keys.” 

“ I saw a small bunch of bight new keys by her.” 

“ Well, my lady, we must get her out, and search her for 
papers. She must get none away. Then what?” 

“I can tell you better after that. Come with me, 
Adam.” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


197 


Violet returned to the library, and called, through the 
closed door: 

“ Helen! I am here, with Adam Moreland, and you are 
my prisoner.” 

“ Understand,” said Helen, in a clear voice, “ if you 
open the door, to give me up for a felony, I shall put this 
bullet through my heart when you touch the handle of the 
door.” 

“ Adam,” said Violet, “ I cannot have this woman's death 
on my hands. Iiemember, she has been wronged.” 

“Will you promise not to harm yourself, if we agree to 
let you go, Helen?” she asked, through the door. 

“Yes.” 

“You will put that weapon in the drawer and shut the 
drawer before we open this door — on your oath?” 

“Yes, on my oath.” 

“ But you must be searched for papers, Helen, and take 
your oath, that you have no papers, and no copies.” 

Helen was silent. 

“Consider, if you refuse, I am compelled to send for 
the officers, and give you your choice between arrest for a 
felony, or death by your own hand, if you insist upon prefer- 
ring it.” 

“ I promise,” said Helen. “ There are no papers that I 
care for. I did not find what I wanted.” 

“ Can I trust you to keep your word?” asked Violet. 

“ Yes. If I don't, Adam is there, and he is strong.” 

“ Now, then, I open the door.” 

Violet opened the door, and she and Helen stood facing 
each other. 

“ Victory is yours. Lady Leigh,” said Helen, scornfully. 

“Helen, I have never been unkind to you; why are you 
my enemy?” said Violet, earnestly. 

“You are his wife” 

Violet sighed. 

“ Your husband has deceived, wronged, mocked, scorned 
me,” said Helen, hotly, “ and you know the words, ‘ Hell 
has no fury like a woman scorned."' 

Violet could not prevent the rising of a heavenly pity in 
her innocent heart as she looked at the pale, contorted, and 
passionate face before her; she herself knew so well the pain 
of wounded love. 


198 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“Helen,” she said, gently, “to be wronged and scorned 
need not make one wicked.” 

“It makes me wicked. What have I left in the world.” 

True, Helen had no sweet little one to be her comfort. 

“Helen, I know you have been wronged; from my soul I 
pity you. But now you know none of us can right this 
wrong. It is too late. I pray you, Helen, lay aside passion 
and revenge, and forgive my husband.” 

“Never! till I die — till we both die!” cried Helen. 

“ I remember,” said Violet, urging her gentle plea, 
“ that you said you hated me, and would bring woe on me, 
my husband, and my child. For that end I know you 
have come here. Did you deceive my aunt, Helen? She 
did not know ?” 

“No,” said Helen, with a hard laugh. “ I merely recom- 
mended to her a nurse of my acquaintance.” 

“You deceived me. I did not know you.” 

Again the hard laugh. 

“ A man in Paris, whose trade it is to aid rogues, made 
me up in this way, for the sum of six pounds. But I so 
hated the spoiling of my beauty, that I took liberty at night 
to be myself.” 

“Did you come here just to seek papers that you hoped 
would harm Lord Leigh.” 

“lean hardly tell what I wanted,” burst forth Helen. 
“ Yes, I wanted to search for papers, when I picked up 
from servants’ gossip where things were kept. But I want- 
ed to be near him — to watch him — to hear his voice. Oh, 
strange infatuation for him that I scorned myself for, and 
cannot conquer! I thought, perhaps, I might find evidence to 
put him in my power, and perhaps then I might have been 
tempted by Satan to kill you or the child. Who knows ? 
Such things happen, and human beings have become de- 
mons. Oh, where did I get this cruel, fierce, hideous vol- 
cano heart? And you and Edna are so different; like angels 
in comparison with me.” 

She flung herself on the floor, and wept and sobbed, 
bringing tears to the eyes of the countess and Adam. What 
a pitiful, perverted, stormy soul this was! Violet knelt by 
her and touched her hand. 

“Helen, do let me help and save you. If you tell me 
truly that you have taken no papers belonging to Lord 
Leigh, all this shall be as if it had not been. You shall 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


199 


leave here at once. Adam shall get out a carriage, and 
take you to the station to catch the four o’clock morn- 
ing train. He will go with you to London, and buy you 
a ticket to Boulogne. I will give you a hundred pounds, 
so you will not want until you find employment. Oh, do 
go away, and try, and be better! Do not hate me and my 
little child — nor injure Leigh.” 

“ Why pray for Leigh? He does not love you.” 

“1 know he does not,” said Violet, meekly, “but he is 
my husband, and my child’s father.” 

“And why should I go, and leave you to enjoy every- 
thing?” cried Helen, fiercely. 

“I enjoy? Oh, Helen, I, too, suffer! My heart is broken! 
but I am trying to be good.” 

Some better spirit moved, for the moment, the wild, tur- 
bulent nature- of this woman. She checked her moaning 
sobs, sat up, and kissed Violet’s hand. 

“Yes, I will go. You have your sorrow, and you bear it 
like an angel, and I bear mine like a fiend. Adam, take 
me away!” 

Adam took the lamp, and the three went up to the room 
which had been occupied by Helen, under the name of 
Mrs. Dawson. 

“Is it safe for me to leave my lady with you while I get 
a chaise?” said Adam. 

“Yes, now it is safe. The demon has for the hour gone 
out of me. I don’t know as if I ever would have come to 
the point of hurting her or her child personally. 

For Violet, she seemed to have no fear of Helen. She 
waited while she packed her one moderate trunk, and 
went down to the rear door with them, when Adam car- 
ried the box down on his shoulder, and drove away with 
Helen. 

He took her to London, and saw her start in the Bou- 
logne boat. Then he went to seek his lord. He must go 
home to know what had happened, and look over his pa- 
pers. 

It was in the library, in Adam’s presence, that Violet told 
her husband, simply and earnestly, the history of that 
night. Adam’s eyes filled with tears as he remembered 
where he had found her husband, when he looked for him 
— at the gaming-table. 

“ I do not know as I did right,” said Violet, “ but I could 


200 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


not give the poor creature in charge, and I thought you 
would not like a public scandal." 

“ You did quite right," said Leigh. “ For the time she 
has gone; but, Violet, I know that woman will bring on us, 
on our boy, some fatal trouble." 

“ And if it must be so, Norman," said Violet, gently, 
“ how better can we meet trouble than by trying to do our 
best, and help each other?" 

Leigh was overcome. He sank on his knees, and clasped 
and kissed her hands. 

“ Oh, Violet, good, kind little Violet, I am unworthy of 
you! I, in my sins, am always destroying our home, while 
you, brave and gently, are trying to defend it." 


CHAPTER XLV. 

“THAT ENDS ALL BETWEEN US." 

For a little time the vagrant heart of Leigh seemed to 
turn to Violet with gratitude, almost with love. He spoke 
kindly to her, had some thoughtful care for her comfort. 

“ You wanted Magery Rogers for the boy’s nurse," he 
said, “and you shall have her. Adam shall go and bring 
her here. You shall not be frightened again by a stran- 
ger." 

He sent Adam for Magery, telling him to bid her be 
silent about her insane lodger, Bart Kemp. 

In a few days Magery had returned to the scene of her 
childhood, and the nursery where she had been little maid 
to the late lord’s sister. Her passionate devotion to Violet 
and her child knew no bounds. 

“ My lord," said Adam, seeking a private conference, the 
day after his return, “ while gone, I saw an advertisement 
asking news of Bart Kemp, and describing our man ex- 
actly. I went to the address given, and I found a little 
gray, shrewd lawyer. He told me what the man was like, 
even to the big plaid suit, which is up in my closet now, for 
I put other things on him when I took him away. He told 
me, my lord, that Kemp had been over twenty years in 
Australia, and had made money, and that he had funds and 
papers belonging to him in his office. . He says Kemp is 
rather rich, and was with him the middle of November, 



202 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


and said he was going to Sussex to hunt up a relative who 
was ‘high quality/-” 

“How much did you tell the lawyer, Adam?” 

“ I told him Kemp went to Sussex, and I being out in 
a wood, one day, saw him fall, as in epilepsy, and he struck 
his head, and I did what I could for him, and, as he was 
out of his mind, I took him to my sister, to be cared for till 
he recovered, and that some months ago he escaped. I gave 
him my references and my sister's, and I told him it was 
done out of kindness — and so it was — to you.” 

“ Well, what will he do about it?” asked Leigh, eagerly. 

“ He says he must advertise for his man, and if that does 
not succeed, he must set the police to search for him.” 

Lord Leigh felt that some attack was likely to be made 
on his birth and title. What it could be, he did not know, 
as he felt firmly established concerning both; but there was 
his tenderest point, and there he believed that Helen's ven- 
geance would wound him. He would need friends and 
helpers in such an emergency, and he sought to consoli- 
date friendships with such men as Sir Tom Churchill, Lord 
Keith, and the Marquis of Alwood. If an attack were made 
on his title, it must be tried before his peers. 

He concluded that it would be well for Violet to renounce 
her resolution of withdrawing entirely from society and re- 
maining in Sussex during all the season. She would come 
to town with the child for at least a month. 

If he had Violet in London they must attend and give 
entertainments, which would at least bring him where he 
could see Edna, if even it was far off, and the joy of see- 
ing her was dashed with the pain of watching others wor- 
shiping at her shrine, or beholding a favored suitor by her 
side. 

Violet dreaded to go to London; her country home was 
so safe, quiet, and happy for her and for her child. But 
Leigh insisted; and when the primroses were all abloom, she 
went back to her Belgravian residence. 

The morning after her arrival she drove to Lady Burton's, 
taking Magery and the little Rupert, desirous of showing 
the darling to the two friends whom she most valued. Her 
coming was as a festival. Mother and babe were over- 
whelmed with caresses and praises. Edna carried the in- 
fant up to Lady Burton's boudoir, and Lady Burton came 
up, clasping her arm around Violet's waist. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


203 


“ You must have off your wraps and stay to lunch," said 
Lady Burton. “ We are alone. Kenneth has been at the 
castle this week past, overseeing plans for new school- 
houses. We have an undisturbed day before us. I will 
give orders to admit no one. Tell us all your new joys and 
experiences, my little Violet. How young and sweet you 
look, with the mother-joy in your shining brown eyes." 

“And look at this love of loves," cried Edna, dancing 
the baby free of the satin and down cloak, and his marvel- 
ous French cap. “ He is our Violet all over again. See — 
he has her dimples, and her short upper lip, and her pretty 
brown rings of hair, and her eyes, all ready to laugh or cry. 
Oh, the pet!" 

And Edna caught the laughing infant to her bosom and 
smothered him with kisses. 

“Dearest Violet," said Lady Burton, tenderly, “I know 
how to feel for you. Your experience is mine. I know how 
this child comforts and soothes your heart, and heals its 
wounds, and sweetens your bitter cup." 

“He does, indeed, dear Lady Burtpn; and I am trying, 
oh, so hard, to improve, and to be a good, wise mother to 
him. He is so bright, you cannot think. Let me have 
him, please, Edna; I want to show you what he can do." 

Violet took her child on her arm, and standing, an 
image of gracious beauty, in the center of the room, said, 
coaxingly: 

“ Now, Rupert, kiss your hand for mamma. Only see 
him !" 

She lifted her eyes. Kenneth Keith stood in the door- 
w r ay. 

There was a world of anguish in Kenneth’s eyes, as so 
unexpectedly he faced this woman, whom he devoutly and 
undyingly loved, and saw her in tenfold beauty and charm, 
with her child — Leigh’s child — in her embrace. 

Violet had not seen Kenneth since before her flight — a 
whole year before. She had sedulously striven to forget 
him. She had been absorbed in maternal love, and hoped, 
believed, that for Kenneth love had sobered into calmest 
friendship. But when she saw him in his noble, manly 
beauty, that look of deep admiration, and of renouncing 
agony in his face, a dagger seemed to pierce her heart, and 
she grew pallid as a wreath of snow. 

But the baby Rupert had a decided and ungallant prefer- 


204 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


ence for his own sex. With a babe’s instinct, he saw that 
Lord Keith was worthy of his infant confidence; so he 
leaped and crowed in his mother’s arms, and held out both 
his pearly and dimpled hands to the tall, fair Saxon in the 
door- way. 

Then little Violet was true to her growing womanhood, 
and relieved the situation of its painfulness. She went 
straight to Kenneth, and, holding out her child, said: 

“My boy likes you, Lord Keith. Will you be his 
friend?” 

“Always! Forever!” exclaimed Keith, and the words 
seemed to him as some sacramental oath. The love that 
must be rigorously withdrawn from the mother might be 
safely lavished on the child. 

He took Rupert in his clasp, kissed his lovely little face, 
and, with him in his arms, greeted his mother, and ex- 
plained his sudden coming. He would only remain to lunch, 
and return to the castle immediately after. 

After lunch, Kenneth .and his mother went to the library, 
to discuss some alterations at Lady Burton’s dower house, 
and Edna took Violet and the babe to her own rooms. 

The next morning, when Violet met Lord Leigh at break- 
fast, she told him of the happy visit she had had the dav 
before. 

“ And did you make my peace with that offended god- 
dess, Miss Ambrose Haviland?” said Leigh. 

“ Oh, Norman, I quite forgot; but it is no matter. 
You are mistaken. She is not at all angry with you. 
She thinks Rupert perfectly lovely, and she is coming to 
our ball.” 

“And will, I suppose, favor us with her wedding-cards?” 

“Not this season.” 

“Isn’t she engaged to Alwood?” demanded Leigh. 

“ Oh, no. She told him he must wait a year for her an- 
swer — at least a year to make up his mind — and if he asks 
again, then she will answer.” 

“ Oh, a whole year! That is a cool affair. When will the 
year be up? Take another bit of chicken, my dear.” 

“ Oh, thanks,” said Violet, flushed at the unusual kind- 
ness, as they breakfasted alone. “ The year will not be up 
till August.” 

“ That time will pass quickly,” said Leigh, with indif- 
ference. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


2G5 


But the indifference was merely outward; his heart was 
on fire with jealous fury. Oh, to be able to stop that mar- 
riage! Oh, to be able to palsy on Alwood's lips that mar- 
riage offer! Oh, to keep the girl he loved and could not 
possess at least unwed! He could not, he would not see her 
married to another. He felt that if her wedding-day dawned 
he could not live to see its setting sun. 

He saw Edna at assemblies; he took Violet to the opera 
repeatedly, because Edna would be in the opposite box; he 
touched her hand in the dance; he rode beside her carriage 
in the park, and hour by hour his repressed frenzy grew, 
until it was veritable madness. 

Then came the night of Violet's ball, and Edna was 
there in tenfold beauty, in a dress of palest naiad-green, 
embroidered with seed pearls. Admitted queen of beauty, 
he saw her floating through a waltz in the arms of the 
Marquis of Alwood. 

At that sight Satan entered into the heart of Norman, 
Lord of Leigh. “ For love is strong as death and jealousy 
is cruel as the grave." He felt ready to sacrifice all honor, 
humanity, manliness, to keep the beautiful and innocent 
Edna from his rival's arms. Then a most malign, das- 
tardly plan suggested itself to him, and in the whirlwind of 
his rage he was carried away to accept it. 

For a minute the good blood and breeding that had 
been his, the remnants of manliness, revolted at his vile 
treachery; but as he hesitated the waltz ended, and the 
marquis led Edna back to the Lady Burton; but as her 
hand left his arm, the eyes of the noble young pair met, 
under the intent gaze of Leigh. 

The marquis looked into the blue orbs of Edna, adora- 
tion intense, beseeching, and from these lovely eyas an 
unconscious flame of pure and tender love leaped toward 
him. 

The marquis surely needed no fuller answer to his suit; 
that look should have told him — did for the minute — that 
Edna's heart was his. 

Leigh read that much, and his madness culminated. 

The marquis passed along toward a window, and stood 
leaning against it, watching the forming of a new set of 
dancers on the floor. Not far from Alwood Colonel Har- 
tington and Gore were standing. 

Leigh went over to them, and whispered to Gore: 


206 


A HE ART'S BITTERNESS . 


“ Anna is in the conservatory.” 

Gore, obedient to the hint, moved away and left to Leigh 
his place by Hartington. Lord Leigh did not see Alwood, 
but stood with his back to him, but certain that he was in 
full hearing. 

“ A splendid assemblage of fair women and brave men, 
cousin,” said Leigh to the colonel. “In such a gathering 
it is hard to tell where to award the prize of beauty. Lady 
Grace Churchill is charming in her gold brocade.” 

“ She is indeed. But, with all respect to your wife and 
mine, Leigh, Miss Haviland is surely queen of the ball. 

“ She is — looking very well,” said Leigh, tranquilly sur- 
veying Edna, who had just given her hand to Keith; “ cull- 
ing homage from every parti, as a bee honey from every 
flower. But Miss Haviland is an old story to me. I was en- 
gaged to her for a year once.” , 

“What, Leigh? You and Miss Haviland engaged?” 

“Yes; when you were in India, I had that happiness.” 

“ In the name of wonder, how did you give up such an 
houri?” 

“I offered her my hand, and — she is very coquettish — and 
she put me on a year’s probation. It is a fashion she has — 
waiting for whatever might happen, you see, and what 
happened was, I saw Violet, and that finished me. Violet is 
certainly charming to-night in white lace and wild roses, 
and the boy thrives in wondrous fashion.” 

Having thus doubly stabbed Alwood and the colonel, 
Leigh w r alked away to speak to other guests, and the lovely 
and innocent girl whose fair name and simple history he 
had darkened, unconscious of the wrong done her, finished 
her dance with Kenneth Keith. 

Edna wondered that she did not see Alwood again that 
evening. But then she had seen him, and she was sure 
she was heloved. That was enough of happiness for one 
day. Love’s young radiance filled her soul. 

For Leigh, he had shot his poisoned arrow, and waited to 
see his victim fall. 

On sweet dreams of her lover Edna’s tender heart was 
fed during several days when they did not meet. Then he 
was present at one of Lady Burton’s morning concerts; but 
grave, constrained, unlike himself. It was when one of 
Bach’s finest figures was thundering through the room 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


207 


that Alwood, who had placed himself by Edna in a win- 
dow, said to her, in a low, stern tone: 

“Tell me, was Lord Leigh ever your suitor in Cornwall?' 

“ Yes. " 

“ Yes! He was your lover, and you put him on a year's 
probation, as you have me?" cried Alwood, indignantly. 

“ If I could only explain," began Edna, tremulously. 

“ It needs no explanation, only the simple fact," said 
Alwood, still in the low, but increasingly imperative tone. 
“ Was it so, or was it not?" 

“ It was so," said Edna; “ but " 

She lifted her eyes in imploring shame, but Alwood was 
carried away by his jealous pain. 

“ Enough. That ends all between us," he said. ~ 

Wounded to the heart, Edna mastered herself so far as to 
bow, and say, softly: 

“Yes, Lord Alwood." 

He turned abruptly from her The room seemed to reel, 
but she grasped the window draperies for support, and 
looked out into the street. A mist swam before her eyes, 
and the blood surged heavily through her heart. She did 
not know what music pealed about her, or what praise 
was said. 

She saw that Alwood had departed. She stole from the 
room with faint, unsteady steps. When the guests were 
gone. Lady Burton found her lying on her bed, cold, white, 
almost rigid. 

She was not able to meet that evening's engagement, nor 
the next; but the third day, hearing casually from Keith 
that “Alwood had gone to France," she summoned her 
courage, and appeared in society. But the lovely Edna 
visibly drooped. Her soft shell-tint paled; her voice had a 
mournful melody; her lovely eyes were as violets drowned 
in dews; and Lady Burton, shocked at a change which she 
could not explain, left London before the season was over, 
and took Edna to Keith Castle. 

There was then no temptation to Violet to remain in Lon- 
don; and Leigh, triumphing in his dastardly work, agreed 
to return to the Towers. He had been gambling heavily, 
and wished to go over his steward's accounts. The results 
were far from satisfactory; they shocked him, and, as usual, 
when he was moody, he went to hide Limself in “The Earl's 
Folly.” 


208 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


He had not been there since the fatal day when Bart 
Kemp had come there to him. 

When he entered the upper room, the sunlight was fall- 
ing over the leopard-skin lounge, and over Helen Hope, 
who lay there asleep. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

“OH, WHO WILL HELP ME TO AYEHGE MYSELF?” 

When Leigh entered “The Folly,” Helen woke, brushed 
back the hair that had fallen over her brow, and sat up. 

“ Here again, Helen!” said Leigh. “I supposed that by 
this time your useless pursuit of me would have ended. 
Why are you in this room?” 

“Because it is yours,” said Helen. “Because it brings 
me nearer to you — reminds me of you — and I knew you 
would come here.” 

“ Helen,” said Leigh, quietly, seating himself in his easy- 
chair, leaning back, and speaking with much self-control, 
“ let us talk reasonably. You are a young, handsome, am- 
bitious woman. With your appearance and accomplish- 
ments, you can, no doubt, secure a marriage that will place 
you in a good position. Come, now, I will give you money 
that will support you handsomely for two years. In that 
time, you can make a place in some large, thriving town, 
and make a good marriage. Or, if you wish to marry a man 
who would go to the colonies, I will use my influence to se- 
cure him a good appointment under Government.” 

Helen’s cheek burned, and her eyes shot flames, but she 
answered, steadily: 

“Norman, that would not make me a countess, nor give 
me you !” 

“Are you still cherishing that idle dream?” said Leigh. 
“You have hinted, yes, plainly spoken, of death or divorce 
as freeing me of my countess. I wish you to understand 
me. Violet is in sound health; she takes care of herself; 
she has renewed life in her child, and is likely to survive 
me, which would only be the survival of the fittest. As for 
divorce, I want you to remember that Violet is a good, pure 
woman ” 

“But,” interrupted Helen, “you can leave her. If you 
go to the Continent with me, she could demand a divorce.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


209 


“ Nonsense! If I did commit so rash an act, I assure you 
that Violet would quietly wait until I should come back, 
lie member, we have a child, and we both care too much 
for our son to blight his name and future with a public 
scandal/’ 

But a public scandal shall come and blight him!” hissed 
Helen between her clenched teeth. 

“ Besides,” pursued Leigh, steadily, resolved that this 
should be a final interview with Helen, and that they 
should come to an understanding, “ why should I go to the 
Continent with you ? I do not care one straw for you. I 
never did.” 

“Norman Leigh,” said Helen, “I have loved you madly, 
but I have warned you that I can hate you just as madly. 
If you will not follow me because you love me, you must 
because you fear me.” 

“ Whatever you are capable of,” said Leigh, with scorn, 
“ I will have no more to do with you. Take my fair offers; 
go and make a name and place for yourself, or continue to 
hunt and threaten me, and I will hand you over to the 
police.” 

“ Then I shall accuse you of the murder of Bart Kemp, 
who came here to see you on the twenty-first of November, 
and who is advertised for in this paper.” 

She held out a London Times with a marked paragraph. 

Lord Leigh read it coolly. 

“ I have seen this before.” 

“If I go to the advertiser and tell him that Kemp came 
here to you, and you flung him from that window into the 
Black Pool, what then?” cried Helen. 

“I should have to disprove it. The Pool has been 
dragged; he is not there. The man, seized with epilepsy, 
fell into the Pool; but Adam, happily being near, dragged 
him out. He was a maniac; and Adam took him to a mine 
in Derbyshire, where he lived, until he escaped iq the next 
March. He is mad.” 

“ I do not believe it. You have imprisoned him in some 
mad -house. I will tell the attorney to seek him.” 

This was so exactly what Leigh had meant to do, that he 
blanched a little; but said, quietly: 

“I tell you the truth; he has gone, and how or where I 
do not know. I do not fear him; he was merely a relative 
by marriage of my mother, Your plan has failed, just as 


210 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


that other plan to find damaging papers in my house last 
winter failed. I tell you clearly that I will no longer en- 
dure your pursuit. I will deliver you to the police, on 
charge of felony, and Adam and the countess shall be my 
witnesses. Where are the Leigh papers you stole?” 

“ I took none,” cried Helen. 

“ You did. I shall swear that valuable papers were lost 
when you rifled my closet. Now the tables are turned upon 
you. You are caught in your own net. Suppose all Eng- 
land does learn that I amused myself once by making love 
to a governess? The thing has been done before. The 
singular thing will be that the governess really expected to 
be Countess of Leigh, and keeps on insisting on a right, 
even when I am a married man. I warn you — never try to 
see me again!” And with a look of scorn and hate, Leigh 
strode out of “The Folly.” 

Helen Hope sprang to her feet with a wild cry.* She flung 
up her arms and ground her teeth with rage. 

“Oh, who will help me to avenge myself on this man?” 

“ I will help you,” said an ardent voice. 

Helen turned. The mist of fury passed from her eyes. 
There was a closet in one corner of the room;' it had been 
shut, but now the door stood open, and in it, stood with 
eager face and extended right hand, the very man of whose 
murder she had been accusing Leigh, the man who had 
so singularly offered to help her in her plans for vengeance 
about a year and a half before. 

“You! alive and well?” she faltered. 

“Yes. What month was it when we were here before?” 

“ November.” 

“ I thought so. And that November was not the last 
one?” 

“No. It is nineteen months since.” 

“ That is a long, strange time to be lost in darkness. Did 
it ever happen to you to be so lost?” 

“No.” 

“It is a strange experience. A strange remedy; fordo 
you know, from birth, I was subject to occasional loss of 
self and consciousness, and this blow on my head, that 
made me mad for seventeen months, has cured me finally. 
I am now a sound man. It is two months since I fully 
came to myself. It has taken me some time to recover my- 
gelf, my memory, my plans. I did it at last, by means of 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS . 


211 


the advertisement in that paper. That put me face to face 
with my real self, as if in a glass. I took up life where I left 
it. I got the very kind of dress that is described, I reported 
to my attorney, I came back here, to the spot where I and 
myself parted company for a time, and as I came, and when 
I came, more clearly I remembered you. You were injured, 
angry, and needed a helper then; it is the same now — 
behold me at your orders.” 

“ When did you come here? How long have you been 
here?” demanded Helen, uneasily. 

“ I came early before you did. I heard your step below, 
and I slid into the closet. I came here to see Lord Leigh, 
because I am his mother's step-son, and so a sort of relation; 
and I wanted to see him, and see how people of his quality 
live. Sometimes they are not ashamed of relations such as 
I am. I wanted to have a taste of aristocratic life if I could. 

I did not like to go up to the house at once; it looked so 
grand, and I had heard servants are stiff to strangers; and 
I thought I would have alook at the place, and might meet 
Lord Leigh. So I strolled round and round — I like these 
English woods — till I got here, by this queer house. When 
I came here first I had some letters of his mother's, and if 
he tried to be proud with me, and not receive me as a step- 
brother should, I meant to threaten him to make those 
letters partly public. When I heard you calling for help 
to avenge yourself on him, I determined to go to your help, 
and gall "him if I could, for he looks a proud, scornful 
aristocrat, and I hated him the minute I looked at him. 
I hate him worse now, since I heard you say you loved 
him.” 

“Go on,” said Helen, averting her face. 

“ Well, when about two months ago I came to myself, 
and found that I had been insane, and had not been treated 
as a gentleman, and kept in a private asylum, with the 
knowledge of my lawyer, I saw this proud Leigh hated me, 
and wanted to hide me, ashamed that I could claim kin 
with his mother, and I resolved then to show him that 
trifling with Bart Kemp was as playing with powder. If I 
had not been shrewd and cunning above most men, would 
I in twenty years have made twenty thousand pounds?. I 
tell you I have the papers and the witnesses now to bring 
this Lord of Leigh down to the dust. But stop and think — 
would you not rather be a rich man's wife — go, as he sug- 


212 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


gested, to queen it on one of the colonies — marry an official, 
say in Australia — and go to be a leader there, a queen, as 
your beauty and your manners fit you to be?” 

“No, no!” cried Helen, “ nothing for me but vengeance 
on him. You promise me revenge; I will have it — noth- 
ing but revenge!” 

“But, if you have it, you must pay me my price.” 

“ Pay your price!” said Helen, looking him steadily in 
the eyes. “ What is your price?” 

“You must be my wife.” 

“ Your wife? You are a stranger to me.” 

“ But I love you.” 

“ You may have ten wives for all that I know.” 

“ I swear I have never married.” 

“But you have been insane for months.” 

“ That is nothing; it will not happen again.” f 

“But I — why, I do not care for you.” 

“ That is a pity; but the love shall be on my side. I love 
you, and I mean to have you.” 

“No. Ask something other than that.” 

“Let me show you what might be. Leigh wants to be 
rid of you and of me. I heard his offers to you. I am not 
so vicious that I prefer revenge to love. Pd rather take you 
than harm him. Leigh will get me a good appointment. 
I am rich; he will give you a sum that will get you a trous- 
seau like an empress. Women like jewels, dresses, servants, 
carriages. You shall have all. You shall have town house 
and country house in Australia, and queen it there, and I 
will be your chief slave. Speak the word, say youfll take 
me, and Fll go to Leigh for terms at once.” 

“ Never! never! never! I will not marry you!” 

“Then you shall not have your revenge. Fll go back to 
Australia to-morrow. Fll only play into your hands if you 
pay me my price.” 

“And can you really destroy Lord Leigh?” 

“I can. I have it all laid out. It cannot fail.” 

“And you will not carry out this plan unless ” 

“ Unless you reward me with your hand. Listen to me. 
That November day, when I came here, my motives were, 
as I told you, curiosity — a desire to see how Lord Leigh 
would receive me, and a wish to secure his help in advanc- 
ing me in Australia. But when I saw you it was as if a 
flame swept over me and lit my heart. The love that cold- 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


213 


blooded peer refuses you I can lavish on you a million 
fold. Hitherto I have cared more for riches than for any- 
thing else. How I shall value my riches as I pour them out 
on you.” 

“ Tell me your means of revenging me on Lord Leigh.” 

“ Promise me, swear to me, that you will marry me.” 

“On condition that you succeed, and ruin Lord Leign.” 

“Yes, on that condition.” 

“ Then, I swear to you.” 

She held out her hand. 

He seized it, and would have kissed it, but Helen shrank 
from him with a strong aversion. 

“ You will tell me now what steps to take,” said Kemp. 

“ The first step will be to see Colonel Hartington.” She 
mused a little, and said, “ Let me do that. I will see him, 
and he will lay the matter before his lawyers. Then they 
will communicate with Lord Leigh’s lawyers.” 

“ Tell me, then, where I can call on you with papers, and 
We will complete our plans.” 

Helen gave him a place of meeting, and they parted. 

While these various scenes of perverted human passion 
had been enacted at the “ Earl’s Folly,” Violet, with little 
Rupert, had gone out to wander in the great sunny gar- 
dens, and there a little lad had found her and given her 
a note. 

“ Come to the Oak Knoll, dear Violet, where I can see you for a 
little. Edna.” 

Violet hastened to the pretty wooded rise, her favorite 
retreat, the very place where, asleep in her hammock, she 
had won the tender love of that sister friend. As she 
reached there she saw, standing in the shade, a white-robed 
figure, with golden hair and welcoming smile, and flung 
herself into the arms of Edna. 

“Oh, Edna! You here, and you would not come to 
visit me, though I begged you so earnestly. Oh, how good 
it is to see you again. How lovely you look. You are a 
true harmony in white and gold. And see my boy, Edna, 
has he not grown! Is he not beautiful?” 

Edna took the child in her arms and seated herself by 
Violet on the greensward. 

“ Dearest Violet,” said Edna, “do not blame me for not 
coming to you. I really could not. But two days ago I 


214 


A HEART'S « BITTERNESS. 


was sent for to Rose Lodge, as my aunt is ill, and I have 
taken the first free moment to meet yon." 

“I could never be vexed with you, or blame you a 
moment, dear! said Violet, caressing her friend's cheek, 
“ especially when I see you sad and pale. What " 

“ I have watched all night by my aunt," said Edna, 
hastily. 

“ Can I not help you? Will she be better soon?" 

“I think I can take her to her sister in two days 
more." 

“And my darling, where is your suitor — where is Al- 
wood?" 

“ In France now," said Edna, a far-off look in her eyes. 

“ But coming soon?" 

“Violet, I was wrong and foolish to tell you anything of 
that, for — it is all ended." 

“Oh, Edna! Oh, I had hoped you, at least, would be 
happy in love." 

“ For my sake, Violet, say no more of it." 

“ Could I not comfort you if we were together? Oh, if you 
only could come to me, I am sure my boy would solace you. 
Edna, my husband told me that he offended you in your 
last visit, and — he is very sorry, and begs pardon." 

“I cherish no enmity, but I cannot come." 

There was a step among the last year's scattered leaves, 
and Lord Leigh came near. He started as he saw Edna 
and Violet with their arms about each other, the child 
lying in Edna's lap, and Violet attracting its attention by a 
bunch of scarlet poppies, which she took from her belt and 
held just beyond the eager grasp of the little fellow's 
dimpled hands. 

Leigh bowed courteously to both ladies, and sat down 
near them. He felt relieved and elate. He thought he had 
finally shaken himself free of Helen Hope. He had been 
making some good resolutions, as he walked along. Now 
suddenly he came upon this charming scene. He really 
loved his child, and he saw that child an embodiment of 
health, laughing in the face of his lovely young mother. 
No picture could be more charming, the sylvan nook, the 
beautiful young women with enwreathed arms, the smiling 
little cherub at his play. But the boy made a spring, and 
scattered the petals of the poppies. 

“Oh," cried Violet, with a shudder, brushing them 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


215 


away, “ it looks just as if we were all covered with spots of 
blood.” 

“ Do not speak so, Violet,” said. Leigh, extending to her 
a large cluster of white roses, that he had picked while 
coming through the park. 

Violet, with a smile, accepted the rose branch. She did 
not dream that at that instant the angry eyes of Helen Hope 
were watching them through the green screen leaves, and 
she was whispering to herself: 

“Your doom is fixed! You will never again sit here in 
harmony. You will be scattered like the red petals of the 
poppy — scattered at my touch!” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

“FIRST m MY HEART FOREVER.” 

Violet Leigh had been bending in prayerful tenderness 
over the cradle of her child. As she studied the lovely fea- 
tures of the innocent sleeper, her thoughts turned to her 
own childhood, to her infancy, to the mother whom she 
could not remember. 

She put her hand to a slender chain on her neck, that 
usually held a turquois-set locket with her mother's minia- 
ture. It was gone, and she remembered that when Rupert 
had been brought to her for a few minutes' good-night play, 
in the drawing-room, she had amused him with it. Kate 
had left her; she went down to the drawing-room to find 
the locket. 

The library door was open, and Leigh was sitting by the 
table, some papers before him, his head on his hand. She 
was struck by his dejected attitude, and his worn face, as 
she stole noiselessly by. The kindly thoughts that had 
filled her breast, rose paramount, and when she secured 
the trinket which she had lost, she stopped in the open 
door, and said, gently: 

“Norman, why do you sit up late? Are you ill? You 
look troubled — sick. I should like to help you, Norman.” 

“Thanks — you are kind. I don't know as anything 
could help me, but killing me. This cursed mania for play 
will ruin me and the boy yet.” 


216 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ Oh, Norman, cannot you refrain for his sake?” 

“I thought I could, but I do not.” 

“ Are you — are you needing money?” 

“ Fm short of funds, certainly. There are no rents due, 
and I have been dusedly unlucky. 

Violet had a terrible dread of her husband's deadly vice. 
She shrank from feeding it, by supplying hundreds for 
the gaming-table. But then, if he were distressed for 
money, and she had it at hand 

She said, timidly: 

“ But, Norman, all I have is yours. Uncle Henry has 
just sent me this quarter's income, and I have nearly all of 
the last quarter. I seem to have no use for money. I can- 
not get ri,d of it. I ought not to have so much by me. 
Pray take it. It is hundreds of pounds; and, really, is it 
not dangerous for me to have it by me? It will keep me 
awake nights. Please take care of it for me.” 

“ Waste it for you, you mean,” said Leigh, bitterly. 

“Iam sure you will not do that. You will need it for 
improvements, traveling hospitality. But take it, use it as 
you will. Only do not be sad and ill.” 

She looked so benign, so innocent, so unselfish, that 
Leigh loathed himself that he was so unworthy of her. He 
cried out: 

“Violet, you are a perfect little saint.” 

“ Oh, no; but, Norman, if you could only like me a 
little, so that as Rupert grows up, he shall see no enmity or 
division between us, and if you could only be happy, in 
building up your estates, and your political influence, so 
that when Rupert comes of age he shall have all that his 
birth and title seem to promise him, oh, Norman, I should 
be so content.” 

“ It seems as if I really must make a man of myself for 
your sake, and the child's,” said Leigh, slowly. 

“Wait here a minute,” said Violet, eagerly. 

She ran up the broad stairs, and returned carrying a 
casket of steel and brass. 

With eager little fingers she unlocked it, and poured over 
the papers on the table, a heap of gold sovereigns, and crisp 
gray bank-notes. 

“ There, Norman! You know how to spend it, but I do 
not. You lay it out for me.” 

“ Keep it yourself, child. I do not want your money.” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


217 


But Violet clasped her hands behind her, and shook her 
pretty head. 

“No, indeed! It worries me; I'm so glad to be rid of it! 
Why, some night some robber might come, if I kept all 
that. Now, Norman, don't worry any more. Good- 
night!" 

He caught her hand and kissed the slender fingers. 

“Would I were worthier of you, Violet!" 

He expected that Helen Hope would conclude to make 
terms with him, and cease her pursuit on payment of a 
heavy sum. Such a sum was now before him, but — it came 
from Violet; and the hot blood surged over his worn tem- 
ples at the thought. 

As for Violet, she slept content after a good action, and 
as soon as she had breakfasted next day, filled a large basket 
wdth grapes and flowers, and hastened to Rose Lodge. 

“ I know you will think me intrusive, Edna," she said, 
after she had greeted her friend, and they were alone in the 
little rose-curtained parlor. “ But I cannot be silent, when 
I know you are sad. There is such a sorrow in your sweet 
eyes, and you are paler and thinner. I know you are griev- 
ing. Tell me, is this a fatal quarrel with Lord Alwood?" 

“ There is no quarrel; only — do not ask me, Violet — he 
found he was mistaken — and all is ended between us." 

“ I cannot conceive of any person giving you up." 

“ Lord Alwood found me — less than he had believed me — 
and he gave me up. I cannot blame him; he is worthy of 
the best." 

“He is unworthy of anything, if he could be false to 
you," cried Violet, hotly. “ If he is so fickle, forget him." 

“He is not fickle. Hush! I cannot let you speak 
against him. He is the noblest, purest of men. It is be- 
cause his ideal of womanhood, of true love, is so high that 
I cannot reach it." 

“Do not excuse him," said Violet; “he is inexcusable if 
he won your love and forsook you !" 

“My darling, I cannot explain; but I cannot hear him 
blamed. He may have been a little hasty; but there— I 
can say no more — only do not torture me by recalling him, 
by condemning him; for every word against him cuts my 
heart. Violet, I loved him, I do love him, and that love 
I shall cherish in my heart forever. I can live for him, 
hope and pray for his good, though we are forever parted. 


218 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


From the first of our acquaintance, I never doubted that he 
had all my heart; I only doubted if I could fill his.” 

“And though forsaken by him, you will live for him!” 

“ I will forget him as far as I ought, and as I get strength 
to forget; but I shall turn to no other. Violet, you and 
ymir child shall now be dearest to my heart.” 

“Oh, Edna,” cried Violet, passionately, “if I had been 
so true and steadfast, I might have been a happy woman!” 

She flushed, ashamed that even in closest intimacy she 
had betrayed the haunting secret of her heart. In con- 
stant care for her child, she flattered herself often that 
Keith's image was finally torn from her heart; but then the 
light of some hidden experience would flash upon her, and 
show ’him dearest still. This was agony to her gentle, 
conscientious soul; how could she blame her husband for 
anything, when she knew that he was not first and sole in 
her affection? 

But lying awake that night, mournfully thinking of her 
friend, she remembared that she had told Leigh of A1 wood's 
year of probation ; she recalled how he had been mad after 
Edna, and how dark and secret were his methods, and a 
terrible revelation flashed upon her. 

It was Norman, her husband, who had destroyed the hap- 
piness of Edna, and she herself it was who had given him 
opportunity to break Edna's heart. 

Violet knew Lord Leigh well enough to realize that all 
upbraiding, all reproach or accusation would but harden 
him. If she would bring him to repentance, to undoing 
evil, it must be by gentle methods. If he had, as she be- 
lieved, been the means of angering Lord Alwood against 
Edna, he must be persuaded to undo his work. She reflect- 
ed that he now felt not unkindly toward herself, and she 
must make use of his kindness to aid Edna. Such were 
her thoughts during the early, wakeful hours of morning, 
but the time had not yet come for saying what she would 
say of Edna. She must lead up to that by gentle degrees; 
the theme was most delicate. 

Alas! while she waited to feel her way, the hour of Leigh's 
opportunity passed by forever. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


219 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

“ONCE FOR ALL, REVENGE OR FAREWELL.” 

On that same sunny summer morning Helen Hope walked 
with Bart Kemp in the most secluded part of the Leigh 
woods. Kemp had called for her at the cottage, where she 
lodged, and together they walked in the forest. 

“ Hold out your hand; I have something to give you.” 

“ I don't think I want anything,” said Helen, keeping 
her hands closely by her side. 

“You'll want this,” said Kemp. “I rushed to London 
yesterday noon, and came came back by the early train to- 
day. I laid out a hundred pounds for you, and I'd as lief 
lay out a thousand, or five thousand.” 

He touched the spring of a box, and showed a bracelet, a 
ring, and a medallion, richly set. 

“Why did you get that for me?” asked Helen. 

“Because I adore you; because they set off your beauty. 
I never loved any other woman. Let me put them on 
you.” 

He drew her to a seat on the root of a tree, and put the 
jewels upon her. Helen did not care to take them — only 
from one source could gifts have a value — but the fierceness 
of the man's love dominated her, and she beheld with a 
strange sympathy love lavished on her such as she lavished 
on Leigh, and equally without return. 

“ After all, Helen,” said Kemp, on his knees at her feet, 
“why do we stay here and pursue vengeance, when we 
might live for love? If you speak the word, I can get, 
through Leigh, a part of a thousand pounds a year to add 
to my income, and you shall have a thousand pounds for a 
trousseau. You shall not have a wish ungratified. ” 

“You forget,” said Helen, “that my whole life would 

an ungratified wish, if I were not revenged on Lord 
Leigh.” 

“ I don't mind pulling Leigh down,” said Kemp, “ only 
I hate to spend the time. The plan is a good one; it can- 
not fail.” 


220 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


“It is a plan, then?” said Helen, eagerly. 

“ I don’t think I ever could have quite come up to the 
point of trying it merely to revenge myself. I should only 
have frightened him a little. Do you realize, that to 
gratify your wish for vengeance, I risk a life in the penal 
settlements?” 

“But you will succeed, and then you earn — life with me,” 
said Helen, bending toward him. 

“ I’ll risk it,” he said, clasping her for one moment close 
in his arms. 

They wandered back along the way they had come. Helen 
leaned on Kemp’s arm and strove by every wile to bind him 
to her interest. 

“You have always been poor, I think,” he said. 

“Listen to me,” said Helen. “I have not only been 
poor, but I have not a known nor legal relative in the world. 
I am a nameless, miserable foundling. 

“ That is nothing to me,” said Kemp, hotly. “ Your 
beauty and spirit are your dower. You are, I am sure, ac- 
complished.” 

“So they say, in all that makes a governess — music, 
drawing, languages, dancing,” said Helen, with a sneer. 

“ Those things are better than a name,” cried Kemp. 
“I love you for yourself. But once more I urge you. Let 
us leave England, which has used you hardly. Let us go 
without flight or risk. We can me married by special 
license. Come, forsake this old, bitter life, and try a life 
of better things.” 

“ Once and for all — revenge on Leigh, or farewell !” said 
Helen, with fury. 

“ Let it be revenge, then,” said Kemp, leaving her at the 
gate. 

But, left alone, what floods of torture surged over Helen’s 
soul ! Leigh had once spoken words of love, and they had 
been music to her heart; they had been only words of guile 
and pretense. This man, she knew, spoke the language of 
a sincere, if a sudden passion. He made her honorable offers; 
he would lavish on her such tenderness as she wasted on 
Leigh, and he would ask in return only the cold crumb of 
endurance. Yet for this man’s passion she had only aver- 
sion to return. 

After a troubled night, she dispatched a messenger — an 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 221 

idle little truant from the village school — who carried Lord 
Leigh this note: 

“ The man Kemp has come back. I can tell you where he is, and 
what papers he has. The papers are dangerous, ruinous, to you. Come 
and see me at the ‘Folly.’ We meet for the last time. If you cannot 
care for me, we part forever.” 

To learn the whereabouts of Kemp, and the nature of his 
papers, was a matter of importance to Leigh. A wise and 
good man, who had no dark places in his life to conceal, 
would have found safety in referring the entire matter to 
his lawyers, into whose hands the affair, if pressed, must 
ultimately come. But Leigh's genius was for conceal- 
ments, bribery, deceit, and his first impulse was to find 
Kemp and buy him off. He did not doubt that Helen, on 
consideration, would accept his offer of money, and he had 
faith only in a compromise that rested on a money basis. 

Thus, he rashly set out for “The EaiTs Folly. ” 

Helen was waiting for him. 

“I had not meant to see you again, Helen,” he said, 
seating himself opposite her; “but I suppose you have con- 
cluded to take the offers I made you. A woman such as 
you are need not lack for suitors — for rich suitors even — I 
think you can get out of life all you have any right to ex- 
pect from it.” 

“ Your step-brother, Bart Kemp, is rich, and he wants to 
marry me,” said Helen. 

“Very good,” said Leigh, cordially. “I will give you 
an unlimited trousseau, and do all I can for him in Aus- 
tralia.” 

“Perhaps,” said Helen, with intention, “you will be 
obliged to do more for him on his own account. He has 
papers that will unseat you from your earldom. You have 
mocked at my birth, how will you be pleased to find a broad 
bar sinister in your own?” 

“It is false, atrocious woman!” cried Leigh, leaping to 
his feet, pale with fury. 

“ It is true as truth. I have seen the papers. And only 
I can get those papers from his hands. It is in my power 
to bring you down to my own nameless level. Your wife 
will no more be Countess of Leigh. No coronet waits that 
baby earl whom she holds in her arms. Utter ruin, as a 
thunderbolt, will fall upon you, and I hold that thunder- 
bolt in my hands.” 


222 A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 

“ Do not think that I shall abandon my rank and my 
privileges without a struggle, and all that power, and wealth, 
and prestige can do to maintain me in my place will be 
done. Your plot will fail, wretch!” cried Leigh. 

“ Heap names of scorn on me,” said Helen. “I bide 
my time. I will fling them back when I see you and yours 
leaving Leigh Towers, carrying no name but your mother’s 
name of Kemp. Come and sit down at my side, Norman; 
we are equals now.” 

“I could strangle you!” cried Leigh, in a paroxysm of 
rage. 

“Yes, do. Strangle me, and fling me into the Pool. 
But Kemp has the papers, safe with his lawyers. You will 
only add a trial for murder to the trial of your title!” 

Leigh dropped back into his chair. 

'“ I defy you.” 

“At least read the list of our evidence,” cried Helen, and 
lightly tossed him a folded paper. 

He read, and great beads of agony stood pearled upon his 
brow. Verily the case was formidable. Helen Hope wait- 
ed for the effect. 

“ I shall fight to the bitter end!” said Leigh. 

“ And the end will be bitter, when you resign your coro- 
net to your dearest enemy, Hartington.” 

Leigh gnashed his teeth. 

“ It could not even hereafter revert to your boy — as near- 
est kin to the colonel — he will be barred out.” 

Leigh groaned. He was not a brave man, nor a strong 
man, his life had given him that ill conscience that makes 
cowards of us all.” 

“ There is a way of escape,” said Helen. “ I can secure 
these papers, and tell you how to destroy these witnesses. I 
will do it on my own terms.” 

“ And the terms?” 

“ Make me your countess, and you are safe. You will be 
still Lord of Leigh!” 

“ There are some depths of infamy to which I cannot go 
down,” said Leigh, furiously, “ and to link myself with 
you is one of them. As well lose my earldom as live the 
fugitive Lord of Leigh, the slave of the governess Helen 
Hope, while all England rings with my folly, and my son 
grows up to execrate alike my memory and my crime.” 

“You refuse me?” 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


253 


“ Utterly and forever! Words cannot speak my detesta- 
tion of you, Helen Hope. You are a monster, a serpent in 
a woman’s form.” 

Helen rose. She was white as one dead. She shook like 
a reed in the wind. 

“ I see all is ended between us, Norman,” she said. “I 
will be revenged on you. Live now in dread of me! When 
you go out a nameless exile from the house where you were 
born, remember that Helen Hope — the woman you deceived, 
played with, despised, mocked, rejected — has stripped you 
of your honors, and brought you down to sit in that same 
dust from which she sprung.” 

She turned and left the “ Folly,” going as some dark 
prophetess whose errand is done. 

Leigh sat as one stunned by a heavy blow. The words 
that he had read on the paper were branded on his brain. 
Instead of feeling energy and courage to rise to ward off or 
return the impending blow, he sat down in a heavy stupor, 
as giving up the battle before it had begun. Already he 
felt as if the fatal blow had fallen and he had met his 
doom. 

He returned to the Towers in this nightmare state. 
From afar he saw Violet on the terrace, with her boy in 
her arms. Would Violet try to save him for the sake of the 
child? 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

“I AM COUNTESS OF LEIGH !”- 

One of the prettiest villas of Kew was inhabited by 
Colonel Hartington, and his wife, the Honorable Lady 
Clare. 

Colonel Hartington and one of his friends were amusing 
themselves with knocking about the balls on the table in 
the little billiard-room in the east wing of the villa, when a 
footman announced that a lady was in the drawing-room, 
waiting to see the colonel. 

He found, apparently lost in a contemplation of a pic- 
ture, by Cuyp, above the fire-place, a tall, handsome woman, 
in a dark, rich dress. 


224 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“ You asked for me, madam,” said the colonel, with a 

low bow. “ Have I the honor ■” 

“My name is Hope, Miss Hope,” said the visitor, “and 
I have come to see you on business of the greatest im- 
portance; also of the greatest privacy.” 

u I am at your service,” said the colonel, politely. 

“It is business that should only he discussed behind 
closed doors. A word of it, breathed prematurely, would 
be disastrous. This room is so public, servants near, and 
possibly other callers admitted. My business may take 

some time; an hour or two ” 

“ Surely it can hardly concern me. If it is the presenta- 
tion of some charity, a prospectus left ” 

“ It concerns no charity,” said Miss Hope, with a smile, 
“^unless to give you your own is charity. And it does con- 
cern you, if you are, as I believe, a collateral heir-presump- 
tive of the Earldom of Leigh.” 

“ I was,” corrected the colonel, “ heir presumptive until 
the birth of the Honorable Rupert Leigh.” 

“In a word,” said Miss Hope, with impatience, “ my 
errand is important, and I trust you will not bar me in 
performing it. I am doing my duty. I have made an im- 
portant discovery, and I come here to discharge my conscience 
of it. Am I to have full opportunity to speak with you 
privately?” 

“ Certainly — in my library. But I fancy that this sub- 
ject is one which equally interests my wife. Lady Clare. 
Shall she make a third in our interview?” 

“ Act your pleasure as to that,” said Helen, calmly, as, 
gathering her lace mantle about her, she moved with the 
colonel to the library. 

Presently Lady Clare entered, cold, haughty, with a su- 
percilious lifting of her eyebrows, at meeting a person 
whom she had never seen “ in society.” Her motions had 
a stately, swan-like grace, but the low, icy tones of her 
carefully trained voice filled Helen Hope with a fury of 
hate; and for some minutes she hesitated whether, for sake 
of revenge on Leigh, she could put this proud, scornful 
creature in the place of the sweet, gentle-toned Violet, who, 
in all provocations, had never given her a cruel look or 
word. In fact, Colonel Hartington had twice to say to her, 
“ Madam, we hear you,” before Helen could make up her 
mind to play into the hands of this arrogant pair, who 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


225 


would ruthlessly have trampled her as the mire beneath 
their feet. But her heart burned with jealous wrath against 
Leigh, and she spoke: 

“1 am engaged in marriage to a step-son of the late 
Countess of Leigh." 

“ Of the Countess of Lord Allan Leigh! Was she not a 
spinster when she married my cousin?" cried the colonel. 

“ She was, or said she was, or thought she was, a widow," 
said Helen, quietly. 

Colonel Hartington and Lady Clare looked at each other. 

“ I had no idea of that,” said the colonel. 

“ Since the question was so important, I wonder you or 
your family did not investigate the antecedents of the ad- 
venturess countess," suggested Helen. 

“ It was in my father's time, and he was a man to take 
things easily, with the least trouble," replied Hartington. 

“It was culpable negligence!" cried Lady Clare, angrily. 

“ As I said," pursued the quiet, clear voice of Helen, “ I 
am engaged to her step-son. I have lived near the Towers, 
and know of the family there, and their claims. By acci- 
dent, in conversing with the gentleman to whom I have 
referred, I discovered that the claims of the present lord 
were null and void; that he was not the lawful Lord of 
Leigh; and, looking at a Peerage, I found that you were 
his nearest kin; in fact, you were the legal successor of the 
late earl." 

“ What is this?" cried the colonel. “ This passes belief. 
What proofs have you of such statements?" 

“ I know they are true," cried Lady Clare. “ I feel it." 

“Not feeling, not intuition, but hard, solid facts, must 
satisfy lawyers and the highest court in the land, when a 
claim such as Norman Leigh's is to be invalidated," said 
the colonel. 

“Are you willing to investigate such proof? 1 ' asked 
Helen. 

“Willing!" cried Lady Clare, losing her hauteur, and 
seizing Helen's hand; “ he must, he shall investigate." 

“ But what are these proofs? — what is this story?" said 
the colonel, more cautiously. 

“ Let me first say," said Helen, “ that I come here in 
the cause of honesty and justice. I am not here to sell a 
secret, nor stipulate for rewards. If we had wished for 
money out of this discovery, we could, no doubt, have 


22G 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


sold out to the person now called Lord Leigh, whose wife 
is rich enough to pay any price to maintain the title of her 
child. We could have sold the evidence for any sum, and 
that evidence would have been forever destroyed. But the 
gentleman to whom I refer is already wealthy, and he has 
lived so long in Australia, making his fortune, that he did 
not estimate the value of the facts in his possession, nor 
how important to either you or Lord Leigh they would be. 
Wheii I suggested that duty and justice required that 
they should be laid before you, he allowed me to come. 
Will you read this statement?” 

She handed the colonel the same paper which she had 
tossed to Leigh a few days before in the “ Folly.” 

The colonel read it with breathless eagerness. His wife 
followed the lines, leaning over his shoulder. 

“ And this is true?” they cried, simultaneously. 

“ Will you refer it to your lawyer.?” said Helen. 

“ I am Countess of Leigh,” cried Lady Clare, in transport. 


CHAPTER L. 

■ BIGAMY OR NO BIGAMY. 

The firm of Wells & Epston enjoyed one of the highest 
reputations in London, indeed in all England, for shrewd 
practice and business management. Their office was 
thronged with clients, bringing them difficult cases. Their 
fame was not only popular, but professional. Other lawyers 
feared and respected them. 

This firm had been, since its establishment, the legal 
advisers of the Hartingtons, and the rich colonel, who was 
possibly to be Lord of Leigh, had enjoyed a large share of 
the cares and counsels of these eminent barristers. 

Not three hours after Helen Hope’s interview with 
Colonel Hartington, the colonel drove with furious haste 
to the Temple, and with much eagerness demanded a pri- 
vate interview with the firm. 

Having made his report, he laid before them the paper 
which Miss Hope had given him. It was in her clear, bold 
hand, a statement of the case made out, and a list of the 
evidence procurable. Nothing could be more clear. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


227 


“ This is very well done,” said Mr. Wells, of the firm of 
Wells & Epsfcon. “ You say a lady gave it to you. Where 
can she be seen?” 

“ She said she would be for two days at the Golden Cross 
Hotel, Strand. And the man Kemp, also. You must see 
these people at once,” said Hartington. “ My carriage is 
in the court. We will go to them immediately.” 

They found Helen Hope in a private parlor at the Golden 
Cross, and Kemp was promptly summoned. A long con- 
versation ensued, and the attorneys and their client de- 
parted. 

Meanwhile, at Leigh Towers, Norman the Earl sat as one 
who waits for a blow to fall. The words that Helen had 
written were ever limned in fire on the air before him. 
Finally, suspense ended in an earnest summons to London, 
to meet his legal advisers. The place appointed for the 
two law firms, and their respective clients, was the now 
closed and lonely house of Lord Leigh, facing the green 
park. 

The case was then briefly stated by Mr. Epston on behalf 
of Colonel Hartington, thus: 

“ The present Norman, known as Earl of Leigh, is and 
has been holding his earldom and estates and privileges of 
Leigh upon a false and invalid title, evidence being offered 
to show, that the said Norman, called Earl of Leigh, is not 
legitimate, his mother having been guilty of bigamy when 
she married the late Lord Leigh. And this bigamy was 
without the knowledge of any of the parties concerned in, 
or cognizant of, said marriage.” 

The pieces of evidence were stated thus: The lady known 
as late Countess of Leigh was first married to Bart Kemp, 
an attorney, of the town of Meath, Ireland, who died at a 
small hamlet called Shields. Said Bart Kemp was a 
, widower with one son. Both father and son were subject 
to occasional fits resembling epilepsy. Bart Kemp and his 
second wife agreed so illy that the lady left him, and went to 
live in England with her father, a half -pay officer. After 
two years’ separation, the wife received news, first by a 
newspaper paragraph, and then by letter, of the death of 
Kemp. Mrs. Kemp, a week or two after this return to 
freedom, made the acquaintance of the then Lord Leigh. 
She was a handsome woman, and succeeded in infatuating 


228 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


the earl, and was married to him in the sixth month after 
hearing of her widowhood. 

But the evidence now produced by Bart Kemp, son of the 
attorney, showed that his father did not die at the time 
stated. He was supposed to have died, and was prepared 
for burial, but his apparent death was but a prolonged in- 
stance of the state of insensibility into which he sometimes 
fell, and he revived, and lived in a low and nearly imbecile 
condition for six months and four days after, really dying 
nine days after the marriage of his supposed widow to Lord 
Leigh. Therefore the marriage was invalid, being uninten- 
tional bigamy on the part of the Countess of Leigh, and her 
son, the present Norman, was illegitimate, and could not 
inherit the^estates or title of Leigh, which estates and title 
properly passed to Colonel Hartington, as next of kin. 

The proofs advanced for this remarkable case were a for- 
mally drawn up document by the grave-digger of Shields, 
stating at what date he buried Mr. Kemp. Second, the in- 
scription on Mr. Kemp’s grave-stone. Third, a statement 
of the stone-cutter that he had lettered the stone at such a 
date; and, chief of all, a document written and signed by 
Mr. Kemp’s physician, stating the circumstances of ap- 
parent death; the revival and date of real death. This 
physician was dead, but many witnesses would testify to his 
handwriting. 

This was the terrible case which Norman Leigh heard 
made out against his claim to the peerage. 

He was as a man stunned by a heavy blow. He could 
not rouse himself to contend with fate. He could not even 
hope for a happy issue out of his distresses. 

It was the second day before he roused himself to call 
Violet to the library. 

He explained the case to her, and then fell into a stupor, 
from which she was unable to arouse him. 

Violet summoned old Adam, and told him the story. 

“Adam, you were at the marriage. You knew both 
parties.” 

Violet had called the old man to her boudoir. He looked 
about cautiously. 

“My lady, the late countess was a reckless one, to stop 
at nothing, and her father, the major, was like her. I knew 
there had been a marriage in Ireland. It would not have 
been unlike her, my lady, to do this thing knowingly. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 229 

But Lord Leigh was surely in the dark about it. He never 
knew.” 

Violet sent for the lawyer. He came, hut could find no 
papers to help the case. 

After the lawyer had gone, Violet in vain tried to rouse 
Leigh to take some active measures in his own behalf. 

“ My lady,” said the reluctant Adam, “ don't look for 
help from him. He has been taking opium heavily since 
the affair came up. I cannot make him stop the opium, 
and I believe he is trying to kill himself.” 

“ Adam, telegraph at once to Sir Roger Parker, and 
when he comes give Lord Leigh entirely into his hands, 
and, act just as Sir Roger says, for he may be able to save 
him.” 

Then ringing the bell, she said : 

“ Nurse, get yourself and Rupert ready at once to go with 
me to London. I have sent for a physician for Lord Leigh. 
Now I am going to save my child's name and inheritance. 
My Rupert shall still be heir of Leigh.” 


CHAPTER LI. 

“I HAVE COME TO CLAIM YOUR PROMISE.” 

From a timid, fearful child, Violet, under the tutelage of 
sorrow, and of maternal love, had grown to the earnest, 
resolute, thoughtful woman. The position in which she 
was now placed was terrible. Lord Leigh, instead of rising 
to defend himself, seemed to yield to his fate, in a dull 
apathy, and instead of bestirring himself like a man, was 
finding oblivion in opium, possibly with hope of thereby 
ending his life. Violet saw that her child, if undefended 
by others than his father, must lose his name, estates, and 
titles. True, there were the lawyers to defend him; but 
Violet felt that they should be reinforced by other help and 
interest. 

When the words of Adam had revealed the sad state of 
her husband, Violet looked at her boy, who seemed no bet- 
ter than fatherless, and remembered how Kenneth Keith 
had taken him in his arms, and said: 

“ I will be his friend always, forever.” 


230 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


That promise she meant now to claim. She was on her 
way to London to throw herself for help upon Keith's 
friendship and his manly strength. She had learned by a 
casual remark in one of Lady Burton's letters, that Lord 
Keith was at his London house, detained there by certain 
business. To that house Violet directed her way taking 
a cab at the station. 

Keith was in his library when the footman flung open the 
door, saying: 

“My lord, the Countess of Leigh !" 

Kenneth turned; there stood the beautiful young 
countess, her babe in her arms, laughing and reaching for 
the white* plume wreathed about his mother's hat. Behind 
the mother and child the tall, strong figure of Magery 
Rogers. 

Keith sprang forward. 

“Violet! Countess Leigh! Is it possible?" 

Violet met him, and with the beautiful look deepened in 
her sweet, brown eyes, put her son in Keith's arms. 

“ Kenneth, I have come to claim your promise for my 
boy. You said you would be his friend forever. He needs 
help; they are trying to rob him of all he has, even of his 
name, and he has no helper but you." 

Keith received the child loyally, and holding the 
mother’s hand in his, said, gravely: 

“Violet, all that a deathless friendship, all that brotherly 
love, all that youth, and health, and confidence, and some 
knowledge of the world, can do — all that an Englishman 
and an English peer can do — is at your service. Speak, and 
I devote myself entirely to you, to your child, to your hus- 
band, until all your wishes are accomplished." 

“ God grant it," said the deep voice of Dame Magery, 
“ for we are in a sore strait, at Leigh." 

“Violet," said Keith, “how is it that Leigh is doing 
nothing?" 

“ He is sick," said Violet. “ He seemed overwhelmed, 
and in an apathy, and he has taken large quantities of 
opium. I have sent Sir Roger to him. He rouses to do 
nothing?" 

“ You wish me to see the lawyers, and act and feel as I 
would if I were in Leigh's place — as if my title were im- 
pugned, as his is?" 

“Yes, Kenneth, that is what I want." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


231 


“ It is exactly what I will do for you, freely, heartily.” 

Oh, how trustfully the brown eyes of Violet turned to the 
Saxon blue eyes of Kenneth. How his heart quivered with 
a mighty pain, that this was not his wife’s face turned to 
him with such intense confidence. 

“ Oh, Violet,” said Keith, with a deep sigh, “you know 
that all my heart and my service are yours, only yours, 
forever.” 

“ Kenneth, when I feel desolate and alone, I think of 
vou — that Rupert and I will still have a friend and helper 
myou, and I get hope and comfort again.” 

And they were both silent for a little space. 

“ I must go,” said Violet. “ I have done all that I can 
do here. I leave my case in your hands. My husband is 
sick and wretched. My place is by him; my home is 
threatened, and my place is there. You will go to the law- 
yer’s at once.” 

“Yes. Give me a letter explaining Lord Leigh’s state, 
and my friendship and position to him and you. Here, sit 
by this desk and write it. Are you returning to the Towers 
to-night? You will be very weary.” 

“ It is as well. I could not rest,” said Violet, sadly. 

“ Keep up heart. I think you will come triumphantly 
out of these snares. I have faith in your cause.” 

She finished the note. Then took her sleeping babe 
from old Magery’s lap, and held him up for Kenneth to 
kiss. 

“He will owe alt to you,” she said, wistfully. 

Kenneth kissed the child’s soft face, and then one of the 
satin smooth little hands that held him. 

He rang for his carriage, and took Violet and her nurse 
to the station, and made every arrangement for their 
comfort. Then calling up an encouraging smile, he 
stood on the platform, waving his hat as the train swept 
them away. 


CHAPTER LII. 

“I WARIN' YOU! YOU MOVE TO RUIN'!” 

During the days and weeks while the lawyers were 
mutually preparing for the contest of “ Leigh versus Hart- 
ington,” Helen Hope was living at the hotel of the Golden 


232 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS . 


Cross, Strand. Kemp remained at the Mitre, in Chancery 
Lane, but his infatuation for Helen grew hourly, and he 
was constantly going to visit her, or insisting on taking her 
to ride or walk, or for trips on the Thames steamers. 

Helen was in a fever of unrest; despair, vengeance, rage, 
remorse, contended in her soul, and she submitted to going 
about with Kemp because, any company was better to her 
than solitude, any speech was preferable to the horror of her 
own thoughts. 

She heard that Lord Leigh was lying at the point of death 
in brain fever, and accusing herself of his condition, she 
made up her mind to fling herself from London Bridge if 
she heard of his death. 

Kemp was constantly buying rich presents for Helen, 
and whenever she admired anything, he promised to give 
it to her as soon as they were married. For reasons of his 
own, he dreaded the progress of the coming case of “ Leigh 
versus Hartington/ and again and again he passionately 
besought Helen to marry him at once, setting out for Aus- 
tralia, and destroying before they left all the pieces of 
evidence in their hands. 

But no persuasions, no lover’s vows, no bribes, would 
lure Helen Hope from her deadly purpose. In fact, Kemp 
was the object of her abhorrence, and she never intended 
to fulfill her contract of marriage with him; he was to be 
forsaken as soon as he had accomplished her purpose of 
vengeance. A less infatuated suitor than Kemp would 
have perceived this. 

One afternoon Kemp and Helen were just about to go 
out for a walk in Hyde Park when Lord Keith was an- 
nounced. 

He was struck with Helen’s appearance. 

“ I feel sure I have seen you before,” he said. 

“Yes, you have. You were at Berne. I saw you often 
with Mrs. Kemp.” 

“Really? But I am not acquainted with any Mrs. 
Kemp.” 

“ Calling herself Countess of Leigh,” said Helen, em- 
phatically. 

“ Oh, the Countess of Leigh! Yes, I am a friend of 
hers.” 

“And it is for her sake, in some way, I suppose, that you 
call upon me?” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


233 


“Not merely for her sake but for the sake of many. I 
have from boyhood known Loid Leigh. I am fond of his 
little son. As a peer of England I regret to see the honor of 
an ancient family impugned. As a man, I regret to see 
people going wrong, moving on a disastrous way. I see 
here, in Mr. Kemp, a man who, by years of industry, has 
accumulated a handsome fortune, and who has the respect 
of his friends in Australia. I regret to see such a man 
enter upon a scheme that may, and no doubt will, utterly 
ruin him. You, Miss Hope, are one whom I should with 
sorrow see a ruined woman, a convicted criminal. I come 
to-day to warn you of the probable outcome of this suit. 
Will you accept my warning?” 

“We rely upon the law, which protects English witnesses 
in the statement of truth,” said Helen. “We found out 
facts, and we made them known to the right parties. We 
fear nothing.” 

Keith turned to Kemp. 

“Do you reflect what you may do? If you are fearless 
for yourself, do you consider that you are betraying this 
lady to a terrible doom ?” 

“ What?” cried Kemp, flashing crimson and leaping to 
his feet. “What?” 

“To transportation!” said Keith, calmly, “for ten, fif- 
teen, or twenty years, or for life, according to the pleasure 
of the judge. Your case being aggravated, for life, prob- 
ably.” 

“ What in fury do you mean ?' shrieked Kemp, “What 
crime do you charge on us, on me? We can prove all that 
we say.” 

“You will be poorly off if you cannot. The crime I refer 
to is forgery.” 

“ Do not try to frighten us,” said Helen, advancing be- 
tween the paling Kemp and Lord Keith. “ The pride of 
this sham countess and sham earl shall be laid low. We 
defy you. Lord Keith?” 

At this instant Keith was called from the room to see 
Mr. Storms, the lawyer. 

“I followed you here,” he said, “to tell you that I have 
discovered that money is not this man's object. He has 
twenty thousand invested in three per cents. Also, I ap- 
proached him through a third party, and he utterly refuses 
to sell out. I think the instigator is tko woman; and if 


234 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


that is so, be sure there is some old story between her and 
Leigh, and jealousy and revenge are driving her. The fact 
is, there is a strong collusion between three witnesses— the 
man, the woman, and the grave-digger. The stone-cutter 
is a slow, 'honest fellow, and we can get at the bottom of his 
case, I have no doubt.” 

“Did you carry out your effort at bribery with the 
woman?” asked Lord Keith, curiously. 

“I’ll own I did. I sent a man from Scotland Yard, and 
the woman won’t sellout. He says she fights for vengeance. 
She rejected his offers with fury and scorn. They are not 
to be caught in that trap.” 

“I am glad of it. I prefer to win the case by clear open 
dealing.” 

Lord Keith returned toward the private parlor where he 
had left Miss Hope and Kemp. He had ever a light step, 
and as he reached the door, he saw that the latch had not 
caught, and that a single touch of his finger would set it 
open. Instinctively he laid his fore-finger on the panel, 
and to the gentle pressure, the door swung wide. 

Kemp and Helen were standing in a window, their backs 
to the room, and Keith who was quick of hearing, heard 
Kemp say: 

“Helen, consider! For myself I fear nothing, but for 
you I fear all. I will promise you anything, everything if 
you will agree to drop all this and come with me.” 

“You promised me vengeance, and I will have that or 
nothing,” said Helen, turning to him with fury. 

“ But consider what he said. Can you, in your proud 
beauty, be placed at the prisoner’s bar, transported like a 
felon?” 

“It will never happen if you do not cowardly fail me.” 

“ It is not fear for myself ” began Kemp. 

“ And I, at all risk, resolve to follow ” Helen turned. 

and saw Lord Keith in the door-way. She paled. 

“ Are you listening. Sir Peer!” she cried, with fury. “ A 
lordly act, truly! Well, now, you understand me. This 
case is no made case, it is no fiction, but it was not simple 
frankness and desire of honest justice that induced us to go 
to Lord Leigh — called Hartington. No! for me, it was love 
of vengeance. I thirst for vengeance as a tiger thirsts for 
blood! I have vowed it, and I will have it! I have sold my 
soul to obtain vengeance^ and am I going back at a word? I 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


235 


hate the so-called Lord Leigh. I hate that sham little 
countess, with the brown ruffled hair, and the blushes and 
the dimples." 

# “ Who might have had you convicted of felony, when, in 
disguise, you penetrated her house, and rifled her papers, 
and who forgave you," said Lord Keith. 

“ Who then knew my power, and dared not contend with 
me!" cried Helen. 

“ I warn you, you move to ruin," said Keith, firmly. 

. “ And I warn you that I have set my price as vengeance, 
bitter and irretrievable, and I will have my price!" 


CHAPTER LIII. 

“WHAT WERE YOU PAID, AHD BY WHOM?" 

Lord Kenneth Keith was at the villa of Colonel Harting- 
ton, in deep consultation. 

“I know, colonel," he said, “that you would not for one 
moment press this claim to the Earldom of Leigh were it 
not, in your view, well founded." 

“ Certainly, I would not. I have all respect for the head 
of the house of Leigh, and as long as I believed Norman 
held that position, I regarded him accordingly; but I have 
too much honor for an ancient line to leave it for a day 
longer than can be helped in the hands of a usurper. Such 
I now consider Norman." 

“ But should it be proved that the statements made are 
false and malicious, the testimony purchased, you would 
feel yourself in a bad position if you contested the title on 
such ground." 

“ I should, Lord Keith, and therefore I wish the lawyers 
on both sides carefully to sift the evidence before we bring 
the case into court." 

“ I have seen this Miss Hope, and I feel sure that her tes- 
timony is not the simple, unbiased statement you deem it. 
She is influenced by revenge." 

“ Yet may be stating a fact, all the same. “ I do not be- 
lieve in some of her suggestions, but you will admit it is a 
strong case?" 

The next express took Lord Keith on a second trip to 
Ireland, to the town of Shields. Again he examined the 


236 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


records of the Dublin stone-cutters* boohs; all were correct. 
Then he closely questioned the grave-digger at Shields. 
The minister who buried Kemp was dead. Shields was but 
a hamlet, and had no register of deaths, except that kept 
by the grave-digger. 

The grave-digger was a sullen fellow, with a certain con- 
fusion in his dogged air. 

“ Fve give in my testimony in a signed paper/* he said, 
gloomily; “and I sticks to what I writ.** 

“What were you paid for it, and by whom?** asked 
Keith. t 

While Lord Keith talked with the grave-digger, the man 
was standing in a grave which he was preparing for an old 
pauper. Close behind the trench stood a little wooden 
house, where the man of graves lived, and where bodies 
were sometimes laid to await burial. A window of this 
small house opened over the scene of the sexton’s present 
work. The sash was raised, but a brown moreen curtain 
fell over the window. 

Behind the curtain stood Bart Kemp, eying Lord Keith 
through a tiny rent in the moreen, and hearing every word 
that he said. 

When Keith asked that question, “What were you paid 
for it, and by whom?** Bart trembled visibly, and great 
drops rolled over his face. He fairly held his breath until 
the man replied: 

“I gets my money by sexton work, not secrets. Stand 
back, mister, or this dirt will get on your boots.** 

“It might be well for you to tell the truth,** said Keith. 

“ Fve told naught else, and writ naught else.** 

Keith studied the man’s hard face for a little time in 
silence, and then walked away. 

Kemp moved the curtain a little. 

“ You did well,** he said. “ Don’t be frightened into 
going back on your statements.** 

“Ay, I know; but mebbe I will get transported for this. 
Hang you, Kemp, why couldn’t you left me alone to dig 
graves?** 

“ Hold fast to your statement, mind you, and you’ll get a 
fortune out of it,** said Kemp. 

But he went back to London with a quaking heart. The 
breaking down of this witness meant ruin to him and to 
Helen Hope. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


237 


Helen had made her own use of the brief time — less than 
three days — of Kemp's trip to Shields. She had found that , 
Violet Leigh had been summoned to London for a confer- 
ence. Immediately Helen sent for an acquaintance of her 
own — a woman of about her age and size, with dark face 
and black hair. Heleft requested her to come to her about 
dusk. 

“Now,” she said, “I want you to change clothing with 
me, and stay here at the Golden Cross in my place. See no 
one; keep the room very dark; ring for the chambermaid, 
and tell her to bring you tea and toast at noon, as you have 
a sick headache, and will not rise. Keep your face to the 
wall. I will come back to-morrow evening.” 

“And for what is this?” asked her friend, as they changed 
clothes. 

“Merely so I can prove I was here, if am declared to 
have been somewhere else,” said Helen. 

“Trust me to act your part,” said her friend. “It 
little to do for you, when you have been so kind to me, and 
shared your salary with me when I have been ill.” 

Leaving her friend in her place, Helen took a night train 
to Sussex, and went to Leigh Towers. 

“ An old lady wishes to see my lord,” said a servant, going 
next morning to the room where Lord Leigh was moodily 
trying to interest himself in studying a system of probabili- 
ties in returning members. 

“Let her come in,” said Leigh, flinging his pamphlet 
across the room. 

A woman in rusty black, white-haired, a stoop in her 
shoulders, entered. As soon as they were left alone, she 
locked the door, pulled off the white hair and widow's bon- 
net, took out the padding that made the change in her 
shapely shoulders, and stood forth — Helen Hope! 

“Norman, have you yet learned my power?” 

“ I understand what you have done. Go and do your 
w r orst. Why do you come here?” 

“ Because my heart misgives me; I cannot ruin you, Nor- 
man.” 

It struck Lord Leigh that he might make terms with his 
enemy if he tried kindness. He held out his hand and 
said, softly: 

“ After all this, is there still affection in your heart for 
me, Helen?” 


238 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


“ It is all affection. I attacked you for love’s sake.” 

“ A strange way, truly, to show love.” 

“ It was to force you to me, since you would not come 
otherwise. Listen to me, Norman.” 

She kilelt down beside him, laid her head against the arm 
of his chair, and looked into his face. 

“ How worn and thin you look You have been ill, and 
it is all my fault. And yet I cannot repent of it, for I 
would far rather you should die than live far from me, with 
others, hating me.” 

“ Helen, do you call that love?” 

“Listen. I meant, if I heard of your death, to fling 
myself into the Thames.” 

“ I wish you had had the provocation, then. It would be 
better for both of us.” 

“But, you see, we both live. Let us be happy. You will 
get strong and happy if you come with me. Come, we will 
go to Switzerland, or North Italy, and I will nurse you back 
to strength. I will be your friend, your nurse, your enter- 
tainer, your slave. Try, me, Norman.” 

“As a reward for ruin? A payment for your malice?” 

“ Norman, I, only I, can break down the evidence that 
destroys your title. In my fury, I sought revenge, but — 
oh, the price I must pay for it! That monster, Kemp, 
wishes to marry me. I shiver at the very sound of his voice. 
And yet I promised to marry him if he would avenge me 
on you. But I can destroy him and his case. I will do it 
for your sake, Norman.” 

“What! prove me the Earl of Leigh?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then this case against my title is an infamous fabrica- 
tion?” 

“But can never be shown to be such unless I show it.” 

“ Do so, and earn your reward, dear Helen.” 

“ I cannot trust you,” said Helen, weeping. “ I adore 
you, but I do not believe you. Come with me. Let us g© 
together to the Continent, and in six weeks’ time I will 
teach you how to break down the case. I will not give you 
this knowledge until before all the world you have commit- 
ted yourself to me.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

: “ The case goes on; Hartington is Lord of Leigh.” 

“ Consider, I have a wife and child.” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


239 


“ This course would retain for them titles and estates." 

“And if I refuse and you ruin me, will it pay you to 
have secured revenge at the price of marriage with a man 
whom you hate as you do this Kemp?" 

“ Hark you! I will never, never be his wife! When I get 
my revenge, my payment will be other than my hand." 

“ Look you, Helen — he is rich. I will give you ten thou- 
sand pounds if you will break down this case, marry him, 
and go with him to Australia. I will get him a govern- 
ment position, acknowledge him as a step-brother, receive 
you both as my guests; you shall be married here. Let us 
be friends. Let us make these terms?" 

“Never! never! never!" said Helen, furiously. “Now, 
then, you shall lose all!" 

“ I will swear to this visit and your statements here." 

“ And I will fully prove an alibi , and break you down." 

“I will not go with you, woman. I hate you so com 
sumingly that the end would only be murder!" 


CHAPTER LIV. 

HE HELD THE PAPER AGAINST THE LIGHT. 

The Leigh estates and the Leigh title had always been 
the objects of Colonel HartingtoiTs strong desire. Doubt- 
less Lady Clare Montressor would not have married the 
colonel had she not hoped that he would one day inherit 
from his younger but feebler distant cousin, Lord Norman 
Leigh. The birth of little Rupert had seemed to end these 
expectations forever, when the amazing information 
brought by Helen Hope had revived them, and wrought to 
its highest pitch assurance of immediate possession of the 
earldom. 

The story was so simple and clear, the testimony so direct, 
narrow, and apparently conclusive, that Colonel Hartington 
entirely believed in it. Still, the colonel, as a man of the 
world and a man of business, was far from wishing to ap- 
pear before the public as the dupe of a pair of knaves, or as 
eagerly grasping after a coronet firmly set on the head of its 
proper wearer; therefore, instead of proceeding to at once 
bring the Hartington vs. Leigh case into court, both parties 
and their legal advisers sifted and examined their case in 


240 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


joint meetings at one or the other of the law offices, or at 
the private residence of Lord Keith. Such a meeting had 
been called at the library of Lord Keith, and the grave- 
digger and the stone-cutter had been brought from Ireland 
that their testimony might be heard in full council. Lord 
Keith and Mr. Storms were very hopeful, as they had made 
some discoveries which they trusted would discredit the 
claim brought by their adversaries. 

Lord Keith had urged Norman Leigh to be present, and 
aid in sifting his own case; but this he entirely refused. 
Hopeless apathy seemed to possess him; he said he would 
do more harm than good — that the lawyers would be more 
acute than himself. 

In spite of Adam's vigilance, he succeeded in getting 
both brandy and opium, in small quantities; and, shut in 
his private room, or his library, at the Towers, he gave him- 
self up to gloom. 

As he would not go to London, Violet went with her 
maid, nurse, and child, and a groom or two, and remained 
in her house by the Green Park, waiting for news. 

At the hour of the conference, Lady Clare, in high ex- 
citement, betook herself to the morning room of her father's 
city mansion, expecting to be there met by the colonel, tell- 
ing her that the testimony was overwhelming and invulner- 
able, and a decision must immediately be given in their 
favor. 

When the door of Lord Keith's library opened to admit 
Kemp and the grave-digger, accompanied by Colonel Hart- 
ington, and the sexton saw that the four gentlemen who 
were seated at the table, were evidently lawyers, he drew 
back, declaring “he was trapped, and would not stay." 

“ Stay and stick to your testimony, or you'll hang," said 
Kemp, in his ear. 

The fellow looked up, and recognizing in the tall, stately 
figure, which stood with folded arms and a resolute face, in 
the bow-window. Lord Keith, who had questioned him at 
Shields, became more restive, crying: 

“ I won't stop. I'll go any way." 

“You cannot," said Mr. Storms; “the police are within 
call." 

“ What do you mean?" cried Kemp. 

“Nothing unusual. We have strong reasons for believ- 
ing that this story is a fabrication, to extort money, or 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


241 


avenge private offenses. If so, we shall hand you both over 
to justice. Admit your fabrication while there is time.” 

“ There is nothing to admit,” said Kemp, resolutely. 

Closely questioned, Kemp gave his story as before. Wells 
& Epston, for Colonel Hartington, then carefully examined 
the grave-digger; but he, recovering from his confusion, 
told a straight story, averring that he had been ordered to 
dig Mr. Kemp’s grave, and as he began the work, had heard 
that the apparently dead man had revived, and after six 
months, he had really dug his grave, and buried him. 
“ The records were at Shields, open to inspection, and he 
would swear to the doctor’s statement.” 

“Why had such a statement been prepared?” asked 
Storms. 

“ Because the thing looked curious, the man’s death hav- 
ing been put in the paper, on the first occasion, and to meet 
my questionings, the doctor made the written statement, 
and put it with the records. He would testify to the doc- 
tor’s handwriting anywhere.” 

“ That seems clear enough,” said Mr. Epston to Lord 
Keith. 

“We shall throw this man’s testimony out of court, by 
showing that he is a criminal, guilty of robbery, and par- 
taker in a murder of a jeweler’s clerk in Dublin,” said Mr. 
Storms, quietly. 

The grave-digger fell on his knees, with a cry: 

“ Kemp! You’ve ruined me!” 

Kemp took him by the collar, with a look of warning. 

“We have here the stone-cutter who prepared the head- 
stone for Kemp,” said Mr. Storms; and a very decent, honest- 
faced man came from an inner room. 

“Did you set up that grave-stone?” asked Mr. Epston. 

“ Yes; I can swear to the stone; I have it on my books, 
and I have been to see it, and it is my work.” 

“How did you get the order?” 

“ By letter; and it is so on my book for that year.” 

“ Can you swear that the stone is as you made it, and has 
not been altered?” asked Epston. 

“No; I cannot.” 

“ Can you swear it has been altered?” demanded Storms. 

“No; I cannot. The stone looks a little odd about the 
date. Jan. might have been changed to June. It is a 
bit crowded. There are methods that could make a recent 


242 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


alteration look as old as the rest of the stone. But again, 
it may be just as it was set up. It was a cheap stone — 
'prentice work on it, perhaps — I can’t swear.” 

“But can you swear to the doctor’s handwriting in the 
paper?” asked Colonel Hartington. 

“Yes, I can. So can others — good witnesses. They 
have done it.” 

“When did the doctor die?” 

“In ’46. I set up his grave-stone.” 

“After all,” said Mr. Epston to Storms, “ the statement 
of the doctor is our strong point. The grave-digger you 
may prove a criminal, unworthy of credence; the stone- 
cutter is not prepared to take his oath that the inscription 
is as he made it, or that it is exactly as he received the 
order, as to date; he thinks he inscribed according to order, 
and thinks the stone is intact; but the doctor’s statement, 
with this grave-digger’s name, and the mark of the cottager 
at whose house Kemp died, as witnesses, will be held as sure 
proof of the revival and later death.” 

“Where is the cottage woman?” asked Mr. Storms. 

“ Dead,” said Kemp. 

“ I’ll swear to her mark,” said the grave-digger. 

Suddenly Lord Keith started forward: 

“You, then, rest the case on this doctor’s statement?” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Epston. 

The colonel bowed. 

“ Will you allow me to take the paper a moment?” 

> “ Certainly,” said Mr. Epston, selecting the paper from 
his wallet. 

The grave-digger and Kemp started, as if they thought 
the young peer would destroy the paper. The four lawyers 
smiled. 

Lord Keith returned to the window and opened the inner 
blind to the full power of the afternoon sun. The next in- 
stant he gave a cry: 

“Gentlemen, the case is ours! The paper is forged!” 

The four lawyers and Colonel Hartington sprang up. 

“ Stay!” cried Keith. “Look here, I beg of you!” 

He held the paper against the strong light, and across 
it ran, in broad water-line, the date of its manufacture, 
1848 . 

“ Two years after the death of the doctor who is claimed 
to have written it/’ said Keith, quietly. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


243 


“ A forgery!” cried the four lawyers. 

“1 give up the claim!” said Hartington, firmly. 

“Til confess! Fit confess!” shrieked the grave-digger. 
There was a heavy fall. Kemp lay senseless on the floor. 
“ Call in the police!” said Mr. Storms, serenely. 

Lord Keith heeded no one. He rushed wildly from the 
room. 


CHAPTER LV. 

“YOU ARE THE TRUE LORD OF LEIGH.” 

Through the hall, seizing a soft hat that lay happily in 
sight, passed the tall footman, out into the street, bright 
and hot with the afternoon sun, dashed Lord Kenneth 
Keith. One thought filled his heart — he had saved to 
Violet’s child his title and ancestral estates. 

His strong, swift pace brought him in a few minutes* 
time to the Belgravian mansion, where he knew Violet 
waited to learn her boy’s destiny. He knew he should find 
Violet in the conservatory. 

The glass doors were all open to the summer air, a foun- 
tain slowly played and rippled in the center, and on the 
marble edge of the basin sat Violet, holding little Rupert. 

A loud peal of the bell roused Violet. A step which she 
knew — oh, how well ! — rang along the hall, tand m the door- 
way, framed in creamy and crimson roses, stood Kenneth 
Keith, his face radiant with triumph, as some victor back 
from Paynim wars, to lay his trophies at his lady’s feet. 

“Kenneth!” cried Violet, springing up, catching the 
light of congratulation in his eye. 

“You are safe, Violet!” cried Kenneth, darting toward 
her, as if to clasp both mother and child to his heart; then 
remembering and commanding himself, and taking the boy 
from her, and pressing her hand only for one instant in his. 
“Your son shall be Lord of Leigh. The case is ended. The 
papers were forgeries; Colonel Hartington gives up his 
claim; he sees its fallacy. Mr. Kemp, senior, died when he 
was stated to have died at first; there was no rival; his 
widow was a true widow when she married the late Lord 
Leigh. All is over.” 

“Kenneth, I do not know how this has all come about; 


244 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


but I feel sure that I shall learn that it is you who have de- 
fended and saved us. My boy shall know it when he is old 
enough to know anything, and he shall always love and 
honor you as the best of men." 

“Violet, whatever is done for you, and yours, is a happi- 
ness for me," said Keith. But he knew it was not safe or 
well that in this hour of joy, and gratitude, and effusive- 
ness they should remain together. Both their hearts were * 
in their eyes. 

“ Leigh must hear of this," he said, “ and he should hear 
it from you. The good news will rouse him up to better 
things. There is an hour for preparation, and you will 
reach the train, and be ^t the Towers before nightfall. Shall 
I give your orders?" 

“Do, please," said Violet. “I will go and dress at 
once." 

Yes, her boy was safe. His name, his heritage were his; 
and Violet, as she was whirled toward Sussex, felt that this 
must be joy and consolation enough for her. 

Keith had telegraphed for her carriage to be in waiting, 
and she reached her sad home about eleven at night. Ru- 
pert was sleeping profoundly in Magery’s arms, and was car- 
ried at once to his mother’s room. A few servants were up 
waiting, and the halls and two or three rooms were dimly 
lit. Old Adam met her. 

“All is well, Adam!" cried Violet, joyfully. “Where is 
your master? I must tell him." 

“ He has been in bed for a little, feeling ill, but he is not 
asleep." 

Violet hurried to Lord Leigh’s room. He seemed in a 
light slumber, and Violet sighed as she saw how worn, thin, 
and troubled was his face. Oh, if she could only make him 
better and happier! 

She laid her hand on his shoulder,- 'bending over him. 

“Norman! Norman! wake up for a minute; I have good 
news for you!" 

He opened his eyes dully for a moment, saying: 

“Yes, yes, it is Violet. Wake up. We are safe, Nor- 
man. Their papers are forged. There will be no contest 
of the title. You are the true Lord of Leigh. Colonel 
Hartington has given up the case. Our Rupert will some 
day be Earl of Leigh. You have a true title for our boy." 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


245 


Leigh sat up, eager, alert, shook off his stupor, and seized 
her hand. 

“ Violet, is it true?” 

Quite true. I will tell you all, Norman.” 

“ And Hartington drops the claim? The marriage was 
not illegal?” 

“No, no; quite legal. You are the true Lord Leigh.” 

“Thank Heaven!” he cried, with fervor. “Now I can 
be a man; this black shadow is gone!” 

“ Quite gone, Norman. Now rouse yourself for good.” 

“ I will, I will, indeed, Violet. Since I thought all was 
lost I have seen so many good things possible, if I were only 
the true Lord Leigh.” 

“ Let them be possible now,”sai*d Violet, gently. 

“ I will. I promise you, Violet.” 

“Well, now, rest sweetly, and in the morning I will tell 
you all. And Mr. Storms will come up. Good-night.” 


CHAPTER LVI. 

“I ALONE AM GUILTY.” 

But while Violet, Countess of Leigh, was hurrying to- 
ward Sussex, her heart filled with gladness at the good news 
brought her by Kenneth Keith, another journey was made 
by Helen Hope. 

Mr. Storms, zealous beyond his orders from his client, 
appeared at the Golden Cross with a police officer and a' 
warrant hastily procured, and Helen was taken into custody 
for complicity in a forgery. 

Thus, while Violet went to her assured home, Helen was 
locked in a cell; Kemp and the Shields grave-digger being 
also assigned cells in the same prison. 

At ten o*clock the next morning the three prisoners were 
taken before the magistrate at the Old Bailey. The hang- 
ers on of the court pressed forward with curiosity at sight of 
the three, so curiously assorted, the rugged Kemp, the vil- 
lainous-looking grave-digger, and the handsome, refined 
woman. 

Helenas head reeled and her cheeks burned with flame as 
she, with the others, entered the prisoners* box. 

But before Helen had left her cell an angel of mercy had 
interceded for her. 


246 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS , 


Early in the morning Violet stood once more at the door 
of her husband's room. 

“May I come in, Norman?" said the soft, sweet voice. 
And when he answered “yes" she entered. 

“Norman," she said, “ I have come to beg you to send a 
telegram to Mr. Storms, saying that you will not prosecute 
those — unhappy people. Lord Keith said they were given 
over to the police last night." 

“ They deserve it," said Leigh, sullenly. 

“ But we are often spared our deserts, Norman," said 
Violet, with a winning look. “Think how great mercy and 
good fortune have come lately to us; let us forgive these 
our enemies their trespasses, else how could we say our 
prayers?" 

“And if we let them go, how can we sleep in peace?" 

“ Could you not make a condition that they leave the coun- 
try, Norman? The man wants to go to his sheep-farm, of 
course. For that poor, hot-headed Helen, let us send her 
to America." 

“ Better transport her to New Guinea," said Leigh, 
roughly, turning his back. 

“Oh, Norman! Consider that this woman loved you; 
and love covers a multitude of sins." 

“ And causes another multitude. Violet, let me alone!" 

“Norman, I feel so sorry for her. She is unfortunate." 

“ She hates you heartily." 

“ Never mind that. I don’t. Do telegraph, saying, f Let 
them go.' " 

“Hanging is too good for them!" 

“Oh, Norman, think; deliberately, for your ends, you 
roused her love, and so you share her fault. Do forgive, 
and consider, if you will not pardon for mercy’s sake, if 
you prosecute, this whole affair must come out; and if 
you let them go, the whole will be forgotten in a few 
months." 

“ There is much in that," said Leigh, slowly. 

Violet snatched a card from the dressing-table, and wrote 
a line. 

“Do let me send this: 

“ ‘Mb. Stobms — I refuse to prosecute. Leigh.’ ” 

“ Send it, and leave me in peace!" shouted Leigh, hiding 
his head under the counterpane. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


247 


Violet sent a groom on the fleetest horse to the telegraph 
office. Then she breathed freely, a vision of the unhappy 
Helen in prison could not longer torment her. 

Meanwhile Helen, Kemp, and their wretched comrade, 
appeared for the preliminary hearing. The attorneys. 
Storms & Morton, had a clear case to charge against them. 
Nothing but commitment for trial at the next sessions 
seemed possible, when Kemp begged leave to speak. 

“My lord,” he said, in a broken voice, and with an earn- 
est face; looking at the magistrate, “ I take all the respon- 
sibility. I alone am guilty. The woman is entirely inno- 
cent. I told her the story, as true. I showed her the evi- 
dence. She was entirely deceived by me. She has acted 
sincerely in what she esteemed the interests of justice. Lay 
on me what penalty the law demands, but let her go. She 
is not my accomplice, but one of my victims. I persuaded 
her to go to the colonel, because as she believed thoroughly 
in this charge, I considered that the honesty of her statement 
would make it more effective. I was moved by hate and 
malice, because Lord Leigh treated me cavalierly, and would 
not receive me, and also because I thought that he did not 
regard my position as a man of means, at a time which it is 
needless to mention. I may defend myself on another plea 
when my case comes to trial, but I aver, now, that I pre- 
pared all this evidence, bought over the testimony of this 
precious rascal, and together we deceived Miss Hope. She 
is innocent! Let her go!” 

Helen heard amazed. This man was sacrificing all to de- 
fend her, when she knew that she had urged him on in his 
attack, had forced him to continue it when he had earnestly 
entreated her to abandon it. She knew that he, at that in- 
stant, remembered how she had added to the testimony, 
strengthened its weak points, been cognizant all t,he time 
of its falsity, had been his instigator as well as his accom- 
plice, and he stood now between her and doom, crying : 

“ I alone am guilty! She is innocent! Let her go!” 

She burst into a passion of tears. 

Kemp turned and snatched her to his bosom, his rug- 
ged face working convulsively. He cried: 

“Helen, Helen! it is I, scoundrel that I am, that have 
brought you to this shameful pass!” and, bowing his head 
against hers, tears streamed down his cheeks. 

At this instant a lad from the telegraph office pressed up 


248 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


to Mr. Storms, and gave him a small yellow envelope. Mr. 
Storms read the dispatch. 

“ Lord Leigh refuses to prosecute, and requests the dis- 
charge of the prisoners,” he whispered to the magistrate. 
“ The man is subject to attacks of aberration, and no 
doubt the forgery is a result of such mental disturbance. 
We will post him back to his sheep-farm. No question but 
he is tired of London.” 

“ The prisoners may be dismissed; there is no charge,” 
said the magistrate. 

The box was opened. 

Kemp and Helen in silence passed from the dark arches 
of the Old Bailey to the sunny street. Silently they turned 
upon Ludgate Hill, and through St. Paul's church-yard, 
and into the great Cathedral of St. Paul. A few people 
were wandering about, looking at the monuments of Eng- 
land's illustrious dead. Under the mighty dome these two 
unhappy ones seemed lost and alone. They sat down on a 
low bench. 

“ Helen,” said Kemp, “ I love you. I have done all that 
I could to satisfy you. I know you do not care for me; but 
come with me; be my wife; I will make you rich; I will be 
your servant, your slave, live only for you. In Australia 
let us forget this cruel, hateful England.” 

Helen heard, as in a dream, the voice of Kemp. For 
her all possibilities of life in England seemed ended. Hope, 
passion, emotion, were dead within her. She hardly heeded 
his words, as, gathering courage from her silence, he went 
on to depict life in Australia, and to tell her what he would 
there do for her. 

“We can get a marriage license,” he said. “ I have lived 
over a fortnight in one London parish, and that is residence. 
I will get it to-day. Let us be married in a week. This is 
Wednesday; let it be next Wednesday. Let us each cast a 
miserable past behind us, and go to better things. Will 
you, Helen?” 

She bowed, in a dull, cold stupor. 

“ And will you have some money?” said Kemp, to whom 
plenty of money was the greatest good. “ I will give you a 
blank check, and you shall fill it out, if it is for half I pos- 
sess. Dress yourself like a queen, if you will, Helen.” 

She looked at him in a bewildered way. Why did this 
man love her so frantically, while the man she adored 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


249 


scorned and hated her? Oh, what bliss to have heard. such 
words from Norman Leigh! To be invited, not to an Aus- 
tralian farm, but to the splendors of Leigh Towers; to be, 
not a colonist's wife, but Countess of Leigh! Why was not 
that her fortune? 

“ And, Helen, we will go and buy whatever you want, in 
furniture or china, and send it to the ship. I will get our 
passage by the ship that sails on Saturday week." 

“No, let us buy all in Australia," said Helen. 

“We could not get there what is good enough for you." 

“Anything is good enough for me; I am a wretched 
woman," said Helen, bitterly. 

“To me you are an angel and a queen," said Kemp. 
“ Let us go and buy a piano for you, and a guitar, and 
books. Do you want books? Let us forget these late ter- 
rible things. For me, I do not care. I have been used to 
the hard things of life, and to possess you will be my com- 
pensation for all. You will go to a hotel in Islington, 
where no one will know you. Come, let us go, Helen." 

She went. Kemp seemed intent on weaning her heart 
from all her troubles, and fixing it on himself. He seemed 
to try to buy her affection. He purchased for her flowers, 
fruit, jewels; he secured a handsome room, and commended 
her to the landlady's care, saying they were to be married 
the next Wednesday, and sail soon for Australia. But 
deeper and heavier grew the apathy of Helen; she seemed 
in a maze of hopeless misery. 

For Kemp, freed from the prosecution which had threat- 
ened him, and sure, as he trusted, of Helen, he returned to 
his condition of a shrewd, practical man. He invested his 
money, and he bought many things needed in his home 
and on his farm. No one could be more assiduous and de- 
voted than he to Helen; but the more he pressed his atten- 
tions on her, the more sadly she shrank from him. He 
trusted that the long voyage would bring them nearer to- 
gether; that new scenes would banish the memory of her 
mortification and sorrows. 

On Tuesday morning he came to see her, and she said: 

“ Come to my room; I have something to show you;" and 
beckoned the landlady. 

On the bed lay her bridal-dress, a white cashmere, with 
a little white velvet shoulder cape, and a small white velvet 


250 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


bonnet. Beside it were a pair of shapely white kid shoes, 
white gloves, and a fine white kerchief. 

“ Indeed, it is most beautiful,” said the landlady; “ and, 
sir, you must bring her a white bouquet.” 

“ When you see me again, I will be — in these clothes,” 
said Helen, touching them gravely. 

“And tell me what white flowers to bring you,” said 
Kemp. 

“ Tuberoses,” said Helen. 

“No, never tuberoses,” said the landlady; “roses, 
lilies.” 

“ Boses for the happy, lilies for the pure; but yet bring 
tuberoses for me,” Helen said to Kemp. 

“Just what you wish,” said Kemp, warmly. 

But for all that Helen had hinted that they were to 
meet only at the church next day, Kemp could not resist 
coming in the evening to ask for her. 

“She has gone out,” said the landlady. “ She left a note 
in case you called for her. Here it is.” 

Kemp opened the note. 

“Me. Kemp — There is one friend I must take leave off, and I have 
gone to say good-by. Helen.” 

“ Well, till to-morrow,” said Kemp, disconsolately. 

The morning of Helen Hope's wedding-day dawned. It 
was a peerless day. The sun sifted down hotly through the 
branches, and struck out the resinous odors from the pine 
and spruce and cedar. It fell in little glints, dappling the 
dark surface of the fatal Black Pool. The heat oppressed 
Lord Norman Leigh as he dashed through the narrow 
wood-paths to “The Earl's Folly.” 

A litttle lad had brought him a note: 

“Lokd Leigh — You have one or two old letters of mine, that I must 
have back. Bring them to me at once at “ The Earl’s Folly,” but tell 
no one.” Edna Ambkose.” 

He never stopped to think that nothing would have in- 
duced the pure and dignified Edna to write him a note, or 
summon him to a meeting. He only madly fancied that he 
should see her there; might hear once more the melody of 
her voice ; look into the depths of her serene blue eyes. The 
letters were a mere nothing — two little notes of girlish 
friendship. Edna herself had long ago forgotten them; 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 251 

and if she had remembered them, she would not have cared 
to ask them back. 

Too mad to consider such an improbability, the Lord of 
Leigh hurried to “The Earl's Folly” — his ancestor's folly and 
his own. With eager steps he bounded up the stairs to the 
room in the second story. There, in the center of the floor, 
stood Helen Hope in her bridal array. 

He stopped astounded as at a vision. Helen was as pallid 
as the dead; dark circles of sleeplessness and sorrow were 
under her large, burning, long-lashed eyes. Her black hair 
lay in thick waves between the white velvet of her bonnet 
and the marble whiteness of her brow. Her face was full of 
a supreme anguish and despair, and yet never had Helen 
been so regally beautiful. 

“Norman,” she said, “it is my wedding-day.” 

“Then why are you here, Helen?” he cried, desperately. 

“To take leave of you, Norman.” 

“Is it to beat this parish church, Helen? I had not 
heard. Come, let the past perish. Shall I go with you, and 
give away the bride at the altar.” 

“Could you do it, Norman?” 

“Indeed, yes — gladly, Helen.” 

“ Then, once for all — you never loved me?” 

“No, no! I have told you so’ a hundred times. Why 
bring up that folly? Come, let us go.” 

“Yes, I go, not to life, but to death — not to a waiting 
lover, but to the waters of the Black Pool!” 

One window of the room opened to the floor upon a little 
open platform that overhung the pool. 

She sprang upon this, looked back, waved her hand. 

“You are guilty of my death. They will. search for me, 
and Kemp will charge you with my murder. The boy knows 
you came here at my call. Revenge is sweet !” 

He could not let her perish so, and springing out, he 
clasped her waist to drag her back. But Norman Leigh 
was not an athletic man, while Helen Hope was a vigorous 
woman, in the mighty passion of despair. She locked her 
two strong arms about his neck, and crying, “I said you. 
should live for me, or die with me!” carried him down with 
her under the fatal waters of the Black Pool. 


252 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


CHAPTER LYII. 

“I WAtfT MY PROMISED BRIDE.” 

On that glorious morning of the parting summer, while 
Norman Leigh hurried to his doom, Violet was in the nur- 
sery, seated by the porcelain tub wherein Magery was giv- 
ing that laughing cherub, Rupert, his daily bath. Admir- 
ing the health and enjoyment of the child, Violet forgot 
her troubles, and while the subdued sadness never left her 
eyes, the dimples returned to her cheeks, and smiles curved 
her lovely mouth, answering to the shouting mirth of the 
babe. 

To Violet, Rupert seemed the most lovely thing on earth, 
and when the child was dressed she had Jenny go with her 
and carry him to Lord LeiglTs dressing-room. Not finding 
Norman there, she went to the library and the billiard- 
room. They were alike empty. The bell pealed for break- 
fast, and, after waiting for a while, Violet breakfasted 
alone. 

An'undefined dread and uneasiness hung over her, and 
as the morning hours passed she sent Kate to make inquiries, 
and found that one of the gardeners had seen Lord Leigh 
walking early on the terrace, and had sent to him a lad who 
came with a note. 

“ He has been called off by the steward,” thought Violet. 

But when lunch-time came, and no Lord Leigh, old 
Adam, shaving his lady’s disturbance, tottered off to “ The 
Earl’s Folly ” to seek his master. The little building was 
empty. There was no trace of Lord Leigh there. 

Luncheon had been over for an hour when Mr. Storms 
arrived. Violet met him, saying: 

“ Lord Leigh went out before breakfast, and has not yet 
returned.” 

“ He appointed this afternoon, at three, for a consulta- 
tion with me. I sent him a telegram yesterday that I should 
be here promptly, as I have little spare time. He wished 
me to draw up his will.” 

“ What is that for?” asked Violet, uneasily. “ Is he ill?” 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


253 


“ I think he is not taking good care of himself, and there 
are some things from which, no doubt, your influence will 
wean him. Lady Leigh,” said the lawyer, who could not hut 
know many of the mysteries of Leigh's life. “ You know 
he was threatened with dangerous illness lately, and I re- 
newed my arguments with him to make his will and ap- 
point guardians for his heir in case anything happened. It 
was only justice to you and the child. He has been very 
averse to mentioning a will, but has finally agreed. I shall 
not leave here now until it is drawn up.” 

“ He will surely be hack by dinner-time,” said Violet, and 
left Mr. Storms to enjoy himself in the gardens and library 
until Lord Leigh's return. 

But the countess and the lawyer ate dinner together at 
sunset, and no master of the house had come, and both were 
seriously uneasy. 

After dinner, they went to the library. Violet kept her 
child up as long as she dared, for its innocent presence com- 
forted her unrest. 

About nine, the bell clanged loudly. 

“He has come!” cried Violet, starting up. 

But a high, fierce voice was heard in the hall. 

“Where is Lord Leigh?” 

“ He has been from home all day — we do not know 
where,” replied the footman. 

“It is a lie! He is here! He sits gloating over his evil 
work! Peer or beggar, Pll have his life for it!” 

Mr. Storms sprang up and rushed into the hall. There, 
with disordered garments, face and hair dripping with per- 
spiration from his hurried movements, stood Bart Kemp. 

“You here, Kemp? What now?” cried Mr. Storms. 

“I want my wife, my promised bride, and Pll have her! 
Right is on my side now, and Pll claim it, even if you are 
here to screen the peer's iniquities.” 

“ Oh, what is it? — what do you mean? — who are you? — 
for whom are you looking?” cried Violet, pressing forward. 

In all his excitement, Bart Kemp recognized the power 
of her gentle, winsome beauty. 

“ Who are you, lady?” he demanded, hoarsely. 

“ I am the Countess of Leigh,” said Violet, gently. 

“ I wouldn't ever have done what I did, if I had seen 
you -first,” said Kemp, looking at her with honest admira- 


254 


A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 


tion. “ But now it’s I who am right. He has you, and 
why can't he let her, my bride, alone?" 

« Will you not tell us what you mean, and of whom you 
are speaking?" said Violet, gently still, but trembling very 
much. 

“ Fm speaking of Lord Norman Leigh, your husband, 
and of Helen Hope, who promised to marry me in church 
this morning at eleven o'clock. Where is she?" 

“ But how can we tell?" interposed Mr. Storms. “We 
have not seen her. Why do you come here for her?" 

Kemp took from his pocket a crumpled note, and held it 
toward Violet, his hand shaking as with palsy, in his strong 
agitation. Violet read: 

“lam going to ‘The Earl’s Folly’ to see Norman Leigh. If I do 
not return, seek me there. Helen Hope.” 

Violet stood silent, motionless, as if, like Niobe, smitten 
into stone in her despair. 

“ I waited at the church," cried Kemp, frantically; “she 
did not come; and this afternoon I received this. I want 
my bride. Where is she? Has he murdered her?" 

Violet made no sound, but life and color left her face, 
and she fell forward, senseless, as she leaned toward Kemp, 
holding still that fatal note. 

The man caught her in his arms. Pity moved his rugged 
heart. 

“ Poor little soul, this is hard for her," he muttered, and 
strode into the library and laid her on a sofa, while Mr. 
Storms rang for help. 

Adam, with some of the other servants, had come at the 
confusion, and a few words from the footmen in the hall 
told him the trouble. Mr. Storms showed him the note 
which he had taken from the hand of the fainting countess. 

“ He is not there. I looked for him there — -this after- 
noon," said Adam. 

“You are all leagued to hide her — to deceive me," 
shouted Kemp. 

“Hush!" said Mr. Storms. “You will find we are all 
leagued to ferret out this affair at once. Believe me, the 
woman is far more dangerous than the man. Adam, call 
two of the gardeners, and a keeper and a groom; those four, 
with Kemp and myself, will search the park and the vicinity 
of ‘ The Folly.' Get torches and lanterns." 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


255 


In a little while, they went out to the search. All the 
household was astir. 

Mr. Storms, questioning the young gardener as to the boy 
seen in the morning, sent a footman for the lad, and at 
midnight came back with Kemp to see the boy in the 
library. Violet, recovered from her swoon, had refused to 
go to her rest, and the pallid agony of her face mocked the 
rich beauty of her attire, as she waited in the library. 

“Did you bring a message to Lord Leigh, boy?” asked 
Mr. Storms. 

“A bit of a note from a lady. She met me nigh the 
wood.” 

“ How did she look?” demanded Kemp, fiercely. 

“She was tall and handsome, pale as the dead, and all in 
white, like a bride to a wedding” said the boy. 

“Helen! Helen!” groaned Kemp. 

“And what did she say?” asked the lawyer. 

“ f Fly to Lord Leigh with that, and let no one else see 
it/ And then she turned and walked quick in the cedar 
wood.” 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

THE LOUD OF LEIGH FOR THE LAST TIME CAME HOME. 

Again, with renewed numbers, the search went on. At 
three Mr. Storms came in, and said that as soon as the day 
was clear they would drag the Black Pool. He had sent to 
the family physician to come at once, fearing for Violet, 
and desiring also the testimony and presence of' the physi- 
cian in case their worst fears were realized. 

Day dawned, and, sleepless and haggard, Violet Leigh 
watched from the eastern windows the brightening of the 
primrose sky to red and gold. She had heard the tread of 
many feet, as carrying canoes and drags, the men went by 
to search out the secrets of the Black Pool. The servants 
hung about in little groups, faces awe-struck and wan. Of 
all the household only the babe was in tranquil rest. 

The sun was well up when the boats were put out on the 
pool. As they touched the water some one called attention 
to a certain thing caught in a low branch at the most dis- 
tant point of the pool. They rowed thither and found a 


256 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


light felt hat known to be Lord Leigh’s. In silence the two 
boats parted at this point, and moved in opposite directions 
around the pool, to meet the level, open spot near “ The 
Folly,” where stood, Kemp, Adam, and Mr. Storms. 

When almost the entire circuit had been made with the 
drags, not far from “The Folly,” there was a resistance; the 
drags of one boat caught some heavy object, and both boats 
came together. In breathless, terrified silence they drew 
slowly, slowly from the black depths their prey. 

A whiteness gleamed under the turbid water; then, 
closely clasped together, two still forms — a woman, all in 
snowy white, a man in a light woolen suit, heavy with water. 
Her arms were clinched fast about his neck ; his right arm 
held about her waist, but his left hand, as she dragged him 
down, had instinctively grasped the first thing it touched, 
and that, alas! the strong, tough roots of plants at the bot- 
tom of the Pool, and as he held fast to these in his death- 
air had not risen even once to the sur- 



They brought the bodies in, and loosening the enwrapped 
arms, laid them side by side upon the sward; and Lord 
Leigh was stretched at Adam’s feet; and Helen, cold and 
still, lay before her bridegroom. 

Kempt knelt down and touched the bridal garments. 

“ She said, when I saw her again it should be in these,” 
said he; “and she has come, my bride, but not at the altar. 
He has murdered her!” 

“No, Kemp; she has revenged herself on him, and drawn 
him with her to her death. See this!” said Mr. Storms, 
taking from Lord Leigh’s vest : pocket a note, the corner of 
which had protruded, and carefully unfolding it on his 
palm. “ See here! She has summoned him here, and un- 
dey a false name and plea, to insure his coming. She sought 
him, and not he her, in that fatal hour.” 

“ That’s the lady, and that’s the note,” said a voice. 

At the head of the two bodies stood the urchin who had 
been Helen’s last messenger. 

“She meant to die with him,” said Kemp to Mr. 
Storms. 

“Yes; no doubt.” 

“ She never loved me, but — I loved herl” said the man, 
bursting into a vehement passion of grief. 

The other men fell back, with the respect due to anguish, 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 257 

and indulged him for a little space, as he knelt by the 
woman he had loved, and smoothed the wet hair from her 
brow, and called her by her name, and touched her dank 
bridal array. . 

“ We must take them to the house,” said Mr. Storms. 

The men lifted two of the lower shutters of “ The Folly” 
from their hinges. Over one they laid a lion-skin rug, and 
on the other a leopard skin. Then on each improvised bier 
they laid a cold, still form, with water slowly streaming from 
its garments, and through the narrow aisles of the cedar 
wood they took their way with their burden. 

Some had run before, and the news had spread. 

“ They are found !” “ Both together !” “ Dead !” 

“ Drowned in the Black Pool !" 

These were the fragments of news that reached the house, 
and which they meant to keep from the ears of the young 
Countess of Leigh. 

But she heard them, as such things are ever heard. She 
heard the cries of horror, the bursts of weeping, the smoth- 
ered warnings of silence. It was only what she had been 
sure would come. She had known well, since midnight, 
how it would eiid. She knew by what way, at the avenue 
facing the great entrance of her princely home, they would 
bring its dead lord in; and, wan and trembling, out into the 
wide sunshine went Violet, Countess of Leigh, widowed, and 
alone. 

Young and forlorn as she was, and looked, there was a 
new dignity and resolve about her that made her first in the 
scene, and suffered no remonstrances, as with set face and 
folded arms, she stood upon the marble steps of the en- 
trance, where the Leigh lions, asleep in stone, crouched on 
either hand. 

The rector had heard of the search and had come over 
early, and he and the doctor stood near, behind the young 
countess, as she waited for her dead. 

And thus, slowly carried, drenched and rigid with open 
unseeing eyes, and clenched hands, Norman Leigh came for 
the last time to his ancestral home. 

Slowly up the broad steps came the men, carrying the first 
bier, where the face of the dead had been covered with 
Adam's kerchief. 

Then the bearers of the second bier stood still. 

“ What shall be done with the woman's body?” 


258 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ Bring her in,” said the young countess, in a firm, low 
tone; “one cannot refuse hospitality to the dead.” 

Mr. Storms passed first — and arm in arm Adam and 
Kemp followed, each the ruin of his hope — the idol of his 
life. 

They laid the bodies down in the billiard-room, and then 
the rector, taking, Violet's hand and drawing her to him as 
if she were his child, said, while tears ra-ined over his white 
beard and wrinkled cheeks: 

“ Dear child, your work for him is ended. You have still 
your boy; come to him.” 

And bowed above the cradle of her babe, the overwrought 
heart of Violet Leigh found the relief of tears. 

“ She cannot be alone so, poor, friendless little heiress 
that she has always been,” said Mr. Storms, pityingly. “We 
must send for some one. For her aunts?” 

“ If I might be so bold,” said Kate. “ I suppose the re- 
lations must be sent for, but Lady Burton and Miss Havi- 
land are the ones that can comfort her, and no others.” 

Shut alone in her room, Violet passed that horrible day. 
The coroner's inquest was held, the preparations for the 
burial went on. 

Henry Ainslie, and his wife, and the Earl of Montressor, 
and Colonel Hartington, were summoned, but Violet saw 
no one until another day dawned, and a swift step passed 
up the stair, and Kate gave a cry of joy, as she opened the 
door of her lady's room, and Edna Haviland folded the for- 
lorn little widow to her bosom. Held in those strong, fond 
arms, soothed by that sweet, loving voice, she who had 
learned to console, having had many sorrows of her own in 
her young, innocent life, brought the balm of comfort to 
the wounded heart of Violet, 

Only a little over two years had the tragedy of her 
wretched married life lasted. With its pains and its pathos, 
it had ended now in darkness. Violet was as one exhausted, 
nearly lost, worn from hard battle with a stormy sea, cast 
at last into shelter, but conscious only as yet of the loss and 
the storm. But finally, in the arms of Edna, she sank into 
restful slumber. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


259 


CHAPTER LIX. 

“IN DEATH UNDIVIDED.” 

In those dark days Edna was the light and stay of the 
household at the Towers. Mrs. Ainslie, kind-hearted and 
helpless, could only weep and lament; Lady Burton, at Vio- 
let’s entreaty, took her place in the household, and Violet 
remained in her suite of rooms, with Edna and Rupert, see- 
ing the members of the family only for a few minutes each 
day, as they came to inquire for her health. 

The astuteness of Mr. Storms had suggested a plausible 
reason for the appearance of Lord Leigh at “The Folly;” and 
his view that the earl lost his life in the effort to keep Helen 
Hope from throwing herself into the Pool gained general 
credence. 

Leigh had been an earl; he was dead; good reasons both 
for checking evil speech about him. Words cannot tell the 
relief of Violet, in finding that no ill-reports were to be 
rife of him whose name she bore, and who was the father of 
her child. 

On the second day Helen Hope was quietly buried in the 
church-yard near Leigh Towers. Kemp insisted that she 
should be buried in her bridal-dress, and he placed in her 
cold hand a bouquet of tuberoses. 

“ She asked for them, and she shall have them,” he said; 
and he followed poor Helen, her sole but sincere mourner. 

That evening Violet sent for him to come to her boudoir. 

“ I learn that you are going to Australia?” 

“Yes, to-day week. I’ll never see England more.” 

“You are very unhappy,” said Violet, in her soft, gentle 
voice. “I can feel for you, for I know what unhappiness 
is. And I have learned, too, that when we are unhappy we 
get the most comfort in trying to be good.” 

“ My lady, how can you think to try and comfort me, 
when you know I was like to rob you and him?” 

He pointed to the child, sleeping in his cradle. 

“ We are told to forgive our enemies,” said Violet. 

“ I’ve had a hard life and a rough one,” said Kemp; “ but 
I will be a better man from this out, for your sake.” 


260 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


“ You have energy and money, and can do much good if 
you will, and that will soothe your sorrows," said Violet. 

“ I promise you, my lady, I will be another man." 

“Here is a seal ring that was my father’s," said Violet. 
“Will you wear it in memory of the promise, and if you 
can help poor orphans and foundlings with your money, do 
it, for poor Helen’s sake." 

Kemp went softly from her presence, as if he had left a 
sanctuary. 

It was the night before the day set for the funeral. The 
various members of the mourning household had gone to 
their rooms, when a wild cry rang through the Towers, fol- 
lowed by long wails. 

Violet heard it in her boffdoir, where, still dressed, she 
was trying to catch an hour’s sleep in an easy-chair. Her 
heart at once awoke to terror for her child. What had hap- 
pened to Rupert? 

She flew to the nursery. It was empty; but the sounds 
of lamentation had roused Kupert, who was struggling to 
lift himself in his cradle. Relieved of anxiety for him, 
Violet caught him in her arms, and, as the wails still con- 
tinued, she ran in excitement down the stairs. 

The door of the great, black-hung drawing-room was 
open, the coffin of Lord Norman lay under the dimly lit 
chandelier in the center. At its head knelt old Adam; be- 
side him stood Magery, wringing her hands and crying 
wildly, while the servants were grouped about. As the lit- 
tle countess, in her deep mourning robe, holding the child, 
in his little white night-gown, crossed the threshold, Kate 
hastened to her, and took the child from her. 

“Don’t come here, my lady dear. It is no place for you. 
He is dead." 

“ I know he is dead," said Violet, tears welling in her 
eyes. 

“I don’t mean my lord, dear lady. It is Adam — old 
Adam — whom we found dead, kneeling there by my lord. 
His heart broke for his master, poor man." 

“ Adam dead!" said Violet, in an awed tone. Then, re- 
leasing her hold of the child, she went up to Magery, and 
clasped her wrinkled hands tenderly, saying: “Come with 
me, poor Magery. We have been bereaved together; lot us 
go weep together, and comfort each other. Adam has died 
by his master, and he shall be buried by him." 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


261 


She turned, and saw her uncle, Henry Ainslie, entering 
the room. 

“Uncle,” she said, “give orders to have Adam buried 
with Lord Leigh, and let his coffin be placed in the Leigh 
vault, at his lord's feet. He has followed him all his life; he 
shall lie with him in death.” 

It was graciously thought and said, and brought the 
first ray of consolation to poor Magery. 

Next day they buried Lord Norman and his faithful ser- 
vant. A long, pompous train followed the magnificent bier, 
and laid Norman Leigh beside his fathers. 

As swallows fly from the frosts, and orioles vanish in the 
train of summer, so guests fly from the house of sorrow as 
soon as funeral rites are finished. 

.Colonel Hartington and Lady Clare were first to go. 
With Clare went the Montressor kin, and Mrs. Ainslie de- 
parted next. 

Henry Ainslie tarried a little longer than his wife. 

“ Some arrangements must be made for you, Violet,” he 
said. “Your husband made no will, appointed no guard- 
ians. I don't know just what you are to do.” 

“I mean to stay here, and bring up my son on his estates 
among his own people, to be a good earl,” said Violet. 
“Edna will be with me much, and I shall write to the Lord 
Chancellor to appoint Rupert's guardians and our trustees. 
He will.” 

“I think that is good sense,” said Uncle Henry. “And 
Storms and the steward can advise you about the estates.” 

He brightened visibly when he found he need not be 
guardian, and took leave of his niece, protesting that she 
was developing into a wonderful little woman; 

Violet wrote to the Lord Chancellor, who was laid up 
with gout at his London house. 

And now all the guests were gone but Edna. The family 
at the Towers were all in deep black, but the black hang- 
ings were removed, and the doors and windows were open to 
the sun and the fragrance of fruit and flowers. 

It was a late September morning, and Violet and Edna 
were seated together in a charming little room overlooking 
the gardens, when a servant entered with two letters, one 
from the Lord Chancellor, and one from Kenneth Keith. 

The letter from the Lord Chancellor lay uppermost; and, 
as Violet took it from the salver, she did not notice the su- 


262 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


perscription of the other letter, which she dropped into her 
lap. She cried, eagerly: 

“Now, Edna, we shall hear what he says. Oh, I hope 
he has appointed wise and good guardians for my boy!” 

“ I am sure he has,” said Edna, dropping her work. 
“He would not do otherwise, as he is a wise and good 
man.” 

Violet began to read aloud. After some general con- 
dolences, and compliments, and explanations, that he 
would have come to her at the Towers, had he not been 
a prisoner to the gout, the Lord Chancellor went on to 
say: 

“You have committed to me a very important trust, 
that of selecting suitable guardians for the heir of one of 
the oldest titles and finest estates in England. Your child 
will have a long minority, over twenty years. It is neces- 
sary that I should not appoint old men for his guardians, 
but those who may hope to see him attain his majority. I 
would desire men of large, liberal, kindly natures, who 
would have sympathy with their ward, and obtain his love 
and confidence. I should seek men of lofty ideas, pure 
lives, unsullied integrity, examples to him of all the virtues 
they should inculcate. I have thought deeply upon the 
choice of these, my ideal guardians; but, high as is the 
standard I have set, I think I have chosen men who attain 
to it. I have spoken to them, and they have agreed to ac- 
cept the trust. They are the Marquis of Alwood and Lord 
Kenneth Keith.” 

Violet dropped the letter, and the two young women 
looked at each other across the fatherless babe, who, uncon- 
scious of the questions at stake, lay on the floor between 
them, playing with a gold coral and bells. A flood of crim- 
son rose over Edna’s fair face and throat, at this unexpected 
encomium and mention of the man she deeply loved. Vio- 
let grew paler still, in contrast with her crape, and under 
the widow’s cap, which hid all the shining rings of her 
pretty hair. She turned her eyes to Rupert, and said, 
softly: 

“ I know Lord^Keith loves the child. He said he would 
always be his friend; and he saved him his estate.” 

“No doubt it is a good choice,” said Edna, taking up her 
work again, and making various sudden resolutions, as she 
sewed little stitches. 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


263 


“ Certainly I cannot dispute the selection, and I never 
thought of his making such,” said Violet. Then she laid 
down the Lord Chancellor's letter, and noticed the other. 

“ Here is one from Lord Keith,” she said, breaking the 
seal. She read aloud: 

“ To the Honorable Countess op Leigh— Dear Madam: The 
Lord Chancellor has appointed me one of the guardians of your son, 
the infant Earl of Leigh, and I have found myself unable to resist the 
urgency with which he pressed the office upon me. I trust I shall 
fulfill my duties for the child’s good, and to your contentment. Lord 
Alwood, my co-guardian, has been called to Scotland ; and, as it is 
necessary to confer with you on the proper plans for the future, I pro- 
pose to wait on you at the Towers next week. I shall trespass but two 
days on your solitude. My mother sends her tenderest regards, and 
begs that you will receive her, with me, as she is longing to see both 
you and Miss Haviland. Your humble servant, 

“ Kenneth Keith.” 

Violet had not seen Keith when he came to the Towers 
for the funeral. She had parted from him at the railroad 
station in London, after he had won her case for her. But 
the solemn days which had passed since then, and the ter- 
rible tragedy which had fallen upon her life, seemed to di- 
vide her, by years, from the girl whom Kenneth Keith had 
loved and mourned. Her future and her present were all 
for her child. 

It was in this mood that, when Kenneth Keith came with 
his mother, she moved to meet him, a pathetic little figure, 
in her widow's cap and weeds. The rector and Mr. Storms 
were also there, and Violet asked the rector to give her his 
arm to dinner, while Kenneth escorted his mother. 

When they returned from the brief and silent meal, Ken- 
neth said: 

“Lady Leigh, I wished to confer with you and Mr. 
Storms, as I am about tfi ieave England for some time. My 
little ward will scarcely need much of my care at present, 
and my co-guardian, the marquis, can perform all the duties 
that might fall to either of us. I think the little earl will 
suffer no detriment from my absence. I am going to India 
and China, and probably shall be away two years.” 

Violet did not know that she had been shrinking from 
the future, and. from meeting Lord Keith, until the sudden 
leap of relief which her heart gave at hearing he was going 
from England. She looked up at him almost gratefully, as 
she said, “ She did not wish his guardianship to be a bur- 


264 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


den,” and that “ she was sure Lord Alwood could give all 
the advice needed.” 

“Our little earl will want no more important tutors 
than a nursery maid during the next two years,” laughed 
Mr. Storms. 

Violet slid her hand into that of Lady Burton, and 
whispered : 

“ Since you will be alone now you will spend a deal of 
your time with me, will you not, and teach me how to 
manage my child and my estates? If you stay much with 
me I can have Edna here more.” 

Lord Keith and Lady Burton went away in two days, 
and then, for October, life flowed on very quietly at the 
Towers. 

One day in November Violet went to Edna's room with 
an open letter. 

“ Dearest Edna, I must tell you, the Marquis of Alwood 
is coming here, day after to-morrow, to see his ward.” 

“ Then, Violet,” said Edna, quietly, “ to-morrow I must 
leave you. I go to my cousin's.” 


CHAPTER LX. 

“ CRUEL, CRUEL THE WORDS I SAID.” 

That night, when Edna had dismissed her maid and was 
seated in a low chair before the fire in her dressing-room, 
Violet came to her. Her brown hair, freed from the 
widow's cap, fell in all its beautiful abundance over her 
shoulders, and her long black dressing gown made her look 
more slender and childish than ever. 

“I am glad,” she said, “that your maid is gone, and 
that you have no light but the fire. I want to talk to 
you.” 

Edna, without reply, took her hand and stroked it. 

“ May I speak to you of Alwood, Edna?” 

“No,” said Edna, “ not of him.” 

“But I must. Bear with me, my loved Edna. You 
know that my life has been sacrificed to a mistake and an 
unkind interference. I do not mean ever to refer to it again. 
I wish forever to forget what tears I have shed, what heart- 
aches I have suffered. But my own Edna, I cannot endure 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


265 


the thought of such mistakes for you. Edna do you still 
love Alwood?” 

✓ “ I am not changeable, Violet,” said Edna, looking at her 
friend between a smile and a tear. 

“ Darling Edna,” said Violet, in her most caressing tone, 
“ surely you will not be so unkind as to leave me alone here 
to receive Lord Alwood. You know it is not for my own 
sake I am speaking. I feel sure if you two were to meet 
the old good terms would at once be established between 
you. The happiness of you both is at stake. Oh, it is a sad 
thing to part true lovers, my Edna.” 

“ Urge me no more,” said Edna. “ I cannot see him; all 
my peace, my dignity, my womanly self-respect are at stake. 
I know if I met him I could not so command myself, but 
some look or tone must show that my heart is his. You 
know, Violet, how many there would be to say the poor 
rector's child was seeking Alwood for his lofty rank, and 
loved the title rather than the man. I cannot lay myself 
open to any such suspicion by throwing myself in his way. 
All is ended between us.” 

‘•'But there is a mistake between you, I am sure.” 

“ It is not for me to right it,” said Edna, and the leap- 
ing firelight showed her lovely blue eyes full of tears. “ And 
now listen to me, Violet, promise me that you will not speak 
of me — to him.” 

“ I cannot do that, for I should break my promise,” said 
Violet; “ everything would recall you, and I could hardly 
avoid mentioning your name.” 

“ At least promise me that you will not inquire into the 
trouble between us.” 

“Yes, I can promise that. I do not knew Alwood well 
enough to intrude on his private affairs.” 

But Violet believed that she knew what the trouble was, 
and she set her loving heart and earnest mind at work to 
try and find a way to right the wrong done by her dead 
husband. 

The next day Edna went to her cousin near Hackney. 
Her going from the Towers was as a light withdrawn. 

Lord Alwood arrived just in time to dress for dinner. 
After dinner his little ward was brought to the drawing- 
room, and then Lord Alwood had a long talk about the es- 
tates, and how they should be conducted during the little 
earl's minority. 


266 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


Violet was seated on a low chair near the fire that leaped 
in the grate. Her black robes fell heavily about her, her 
white cap made the one strong point of light, as with her 
lovely child-like face turned aside, she watched Alwood 
while he studied a portrait which was set up on a table near 
him. She could not doubt that he loved Edna deeply still, 
when she saw how pale he grew, and how a mist swept over 
his eyes, and a look of longing and despair settled over his 
handsome face. He turned and caught her gaze. He strove 
to speak indifferently. 

“ Miss Haviland has been keeping you company?” he 
said, coming and leaning his elbow on the jade mantel, and 
looking down at the countess. 

“ Yes. I cannot tell you what she has been to me. I 
think ours is such a love as Tennyson celebrated in ‘ In 
Memoriam/ more than the love of kindred. And yet, do 
you know, once I had the deepest and most unreasoning 
aversion toward Edna.” 

“ Ah?” said the marquis, softly. 

“ Yes. But it was all owing to a mistake. No one could 
be angry with Edna, nor condemn her, except as under a 
mistake, because she is the most perfect creature on earth. 
Well, I mistook her, and disliked her, and refused to meet 
her, and she returned me good for evil, and love for hate, 
and saved me for myself, and if I have been strong at all, 
and have done my duty, it is all owing to Edna.” 

“ She is fortunate in having so warm a friend,” said the 
marquis. 

“Would you imagine me of a jealous nature, Lord Al- 
wood ?” 

“ I do not know. But if you are, I think I could sym- 
pathize with the infirmity, as I possess it.” 

“ It leads us into many mistakes, and often causes us to 
destroy our own happiness and the happiness of others, and 
to condemn the innocent,” said Violet, quietly, and then 
turned the conversation to business channels. 

The next morning, before breakfast, Lord Alwood was 
strolling about in the park, when he came upon a little 
rustic seat under a beech tree, and there lay an open 
book, and on it a kerchief and a withered cluster of pansies. 
The handkerchief h&d Edna’s name on it. She had inad- 
vertently left the things there some thirty-six hours be- 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 267 

fore. The book was Tennyson's Poems, and Lord Alwood 
read: 

“ Cruel, cruel, the words I said, 

Cruelly came they back to-day. 

‘You are too slight and fickle,’ I said, 

‘ To trouble the heart of Edwin Gray.’ ” 

All during breakfast Lord Alwood seemed lost in deep 
meditation. After breakfast he and Violet went to the 
library to look, over papers. 

When the papers had been examined Lord Alwood spoke, 
abruptly: 

“ You say you mistook Ed , Miss Haviland, and dis- 

liked her; would you mind telling me about it?" 

“ There is no reason why I should not tell you. I heard 
that she had been engaged to Lord Leigh, and I believed he 
continued to care for her, and I was angry and jealous." 

“ Well, was she not engaged to him?" 

“No," 

“ Can you not tell me about it. Lady Leigh? I, too, have 
heard of this, and perhaps not a true account." 

“But, if you were interested, why did you not ask 
Edna?" 

“ I did." 

“What did you ask her? If there had been an engage- 
ment?" 

“ Why, I asked if he had been her lover." 

“You see, there is a vast difference," said Violet, quietly. 
“Did you ask her to explain?" 

“ No. I was jealous and hasty, and asked for a ‘ yes or 
no/ and when it was ‘yes/ I went into a rage." 

“ Then you were very foolish," said Violet, calmly. 

Lord Alwood leaned his head on his hand, and sighed 
deeply. Violet remembered how her own life had been 
blighted by misunderstandings, and she pitied him. He 
was, in spite of his admitted hastiness, a good and noble 
man, and he had had his lesson. She bent forward. 

“ Lord Alwood, let me tell you that story. Edna's 
aunt lives by our park gates, and Lord Leigh saw Edna 
there, when she was scarcely sixteen, and fell in love with 
her." 

Then she told how he had followed her into Cornwall, 
and succeeded in meeting her, and had seemed much in 
love, had really been enamored, and how Edna had at 


268 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


once told all to her father; and the wise old man, feeling 
sure that his child's fleeting fancy, and not her heart, 
was enlisted, had insisted on a year of probation and part- 
ing. 

She told the little story simply, earnestly, frankly, with 
delicate tact, and tried to hide the truth — that Lord Leigh 
had not loved herself, had pursued Edna, and Edna had 
used all her power to try and comfort and help her, and 
make peace between her and Leigh; she also told how Edna 
had comforted and encouraged her. Thus Violet told her 
friend's story. 

“ You think, then, she did not love this first lover?" 

“ I know she did not. Here was a girl's heart, faintly 
stirred by first words of love, which did not waken any real 
or strong emotion. And then the acquaintance was of the 
slightest — a few meetings, with the governess or her father 
for a third." 

“ I never loved but one," said Lord Alwood, “ and that 
one — Edna. I have always said I could marry only a woman 
who loved me, first, last, only. I could have the ghost of no 
dead loves rising in my married life. A coquette is a being 
whom I abhor. I believe marriage should be made on the 
simple basis of honest love. I felt sure that Lord Leigh 
could not have been truly congenial to Edna, and if there 
had been a long engagement, it was all on the ground of 
social advantage. I admit I was rash, hasty, jealous, un- 
just. She ought to hate me, and, no doubt, she does." 

Violet was silent. She took up a paper covered with cal- 
culations of certain interest, and knit her pretty brows, as 
she studied it with zeal. 

“Do you think I might have another chance?" he 
asked. 

“ I think you owe her ample and sincere apology," said 
Violet, with admirable frankness. 

“ She shall have it. Where shall I find her?" 

Violet still continued to study figures. Finally she lifted 
her sweet face. 

“ Lord Alwood, I have such a plan!" 

“Of a school-house?" asked the marquis, gloomily. 

“Ho. Hark a minute. This is my plan." 

She bent forward, and talked earnestly. As she spoke 
Lord Alwood's face brightened like the morning. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


269 


.“You are my best friend/* he said. “I owe yon every- 
thing, all my devotion, how shall I ever repay yon?** 

“ Pay the debt to my boy/’ said Violet, quietly. 

And it shall really be this way?** 

“ Yes. I think it will work to a charm/* said Violet. 

His lordship looked another man from that minute. 

He wore a most radiant face when he drove off to the 
station. 

Now, about the middle of December, Violet wrote to 
Lady Burton, begging that she and Edna would come to the 
Towers, to pass the holidays there quietly. 

Lady Burton and Edna arrived on the twentieth and 
fell readily into their places in Violet’s quite household 
life. 

On the evening of the twenty-forth, Violet, in a furred 
cloak and hood, was, just before twilight, pacing the ter- 
race, looking down the avenue, as if watching for some one. 
She did not seem at all surprised when Lord Alwood rode 
up, followed by a groom on horseback. 

The groom led off the horse, and Alwood, with his 
cloak over his arm, went up the broad steps by Lady Leigh’s 
side. 

“ I peeped into the library just now, through the shut- 
ters,” said Violet, “and Edna is sitting there alone by the 
fire. You shall go in at once, if you like.” 

She knocked at the library, then pushed open the 
door. Lord Alwood entered, and the door swung shut 
softly. 

The library was in a ruddy twilight of the hearth-fires 
and the dying day. Edna was leaning back in a low bam- 
boo chair, her lovely head against the tufted blue satin 
cushions, her white dress falling in a soft cloud about her, 
the leaping flame touching robe and hair with points of 
gleaming gold. Lord Alwood moved softly forward: 

“ Miss Haviland! Edna!” he said, in a low tone. 

She made no answer. He drew nearer; he could see 
her face now. Her hands lay loosely in her lap; the long, 
dark lashes swept her delicate cheeks. Edna was asleep, 
and her dimples went and came, and her lips curved, as in 
a happy dream. 

Alwood knelt beside her chair, and said, gently: 

“Edna, Edna, wake!” 

She opened her eyes; he seemed to so mingle with her 


270 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


dream that she did not wonder at seeing him there. The 
soft light of her beautiful smile shone into his heart. 

“ Edna,” he said, “ behold a penitent here for pardon. 
I make a full confession. I was hasty, hard, unkind; I 
deserve only your indignation. But I love you with all my 
heart, I lay my life at your feet. Only your love can 
make me happy/ Edna, will you forgive me? Will you be 
my wife?” 

A rosy flush dawned over her fair face and neck. 

“ Alwood! Are you really here? Is it not a dream?” 

“ Make it the most blessed reality that ever was by saying 
that you love me.” 

“I’m afraid you'll think better of [it,” said Edna, with a 
most bewitching smile. 

“So I shall, every day I live!” cried Alwood, folding her 
in his arms. 

The loud peal of a bell roused these lovers from their 
whispered confidences. 

“The second bell — the bell for dinner!” cried Edna, 
starting up. “ Let us put a very brave face on it. I know 
Violet and Lady Burton are waiting in the drawing-room. 
Let us go in boldly. It is all Violet's fault, anyway. Why 
did she send you in there, as she did?” 

“For my endless and complete happiness,” said the mar- 
quis. “ Come, Edna, let us go to the drawing-room with 
the best grace we can.” 

As soon as they had crossed the drawing-room threshold, 
Alwood mischievously took Edna's hand. At the other 
side of the room Lady Burton stood waiting, in her favotite 
dress of dark purple velvet, and the Countess of Leigh, in 
heavy black crape. 

Alwood led Edna toward her friends, and said: 

“Here is a fair maiden all forlorn, whom I found with- 
out natural or legal guardians, and whom I besought to take 
me in the place of both. And now, dear Lady Burton and 
Countess of Leigh, as you two are her nearest and fenderest 
friends, we come to you for blessing and congratulation.” 

“ My darling, may Heaven's best blessing always be upon 
you!” said Lady Burton, fervently, drawing Edna to her* 
and kissing her lovely, blushing face. 

That was a delightful evening at Leigh Towers. Years 
and years had it been since so much pure, unselfish happi- 
ness had shed its radiance there. 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 271 

As they rose from their places before the fire in the wide 
hall, where, according to custom, the “ yule-log” had been 
lighted. Lord Alwood drew Edna toward him, and, taking 
her white hand in his, said: 

“ This little hand is my beautiful and treasured Christ- 
mas gift. Take, then, my Edna, this ring, in token of our 
love and faith;” and he slipped a diamond half-circle on her 
slender finger. “And,” he added, in a lower whisper, “ be 
very merciful to me, and give me soon permission to guard 
it with another plainer but more potent ring, at St. 
George’s.” 

Who will doubt that, when the three ladies went up 
stairs, and were comfortably arranged in dressing-gowns, 
they gathered in Edna’s boudoir to “ talk it over?” 

But very early in the talk, the little earl, who had strong 
will and strong lungs of his own, set up such a lusty shout 
for his mamma, that Violet, perforce, bade her friends 
“ good-night,” saying, “I must go to my naughty boy.” 

The little countess dropped into tranquil slumber, with 
her child on her arm. 

A light snow had fallen when they woke on Christmas 
Day. It lay like a fleecy vail over shrub and tree, and glit- 
tered like countless gems in the sun, as the little family 
from the Towers set out to walk to the church for the 
Christmas service. Earl Rupert, in Jenny’s arms, shouted 
for joy at the sight; for Violet, to the amusement of her 
friends, had insisted on Rupert being taken to church. 

“ He must begin good habits young,” said Violet, “ and 
he is always to go with me to church on Christmas Day. 
If he cries, Jenny can carry him out.” 

But Rupert did not cry. He behaved to the edification 
of everybody, though it must be confessed he had the watch 
of his guardian. Lord Alwood, for a plaything. 

There were no festivities at the Towers, so lately bereaved, 
but there was an immense giving away of presents in the 
great hall, and all the children of the tenants got acquainted 
with their little earl, as he was carried, laughing and crow- 
ing, among them. 

Edna for some days insisted upon delaying her marriage 
until Violet’s first year of mourning should have passed, 
and she could put on a lavender gown and come to 
the wedding. But Violet joined her entreaties to those of 


272 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


I 


the marquis to combat this resolve, and finally Edna yielded, 
and the marriage was set for rosy J une. 

A very beautiful marriage-day it was, with no ill 
omens; and though Violet could not appear at it, she 
kept the day in her heart, and had the gardener bring 
for her room and for the dinner-table bouquets of white 
roses. 


CHAPTER LXI. 

“NOT TO CONDEMN, BUT TO SAVE.” 

That was a very peaceful and happy, if quiet, summer 
at Leigh Towers. After the close of the London season 
and the marriage of Edna, Lady Burton came to Violet, 
and though nothing was said about it, as by a tacit under- 
standing, there she remained. 

Little Rupert was running all about, was filling the home 
with his laughter and his prattle, and Violet found a world 
of joy in his instruction, feeling that she was accomplishing 
wonders when she taught him the names of things. Lady 
Grace Churchill came for a visit, bringing a wee Violet 
Churchill, two months old; and when Rupert kissed this 
infant's closed pink hands, and tried to poke his fingers in 
her wide black eyes, her mamma did not scruple tro build 
air castles, to be inhabited by these two babes when they 
had grown up and were man and wife. 

Violet said nothing. 

“I declare, Violet,” said the merry Lady Churchill, 
“ why don’t you amuse yourself by plans like mine, all love 
and roses and wedding favors?” 

“ To play with love is to play with edged tools,” said 
Violet. 

“ Come, child, don’t you believe in love?” 

“ Indeed I do,” said Violet, earnestly — “ in love, undy- 
ing, faithful, and true — ‘ Douglas love;’ but that is, to 
me, a love too deep, sacred, precious, to be carelessly 
spoken of.” 

“ You’ll have to speak of it and think of it too, when 
there is a family of children growing up,” said Grace, with 
wondrous matronly airs. “And be sure, my little cherub,” 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 273 

slie added, kissing her black-eyed doll, “your mamma 
never will be one of those cold wretches — 

“ ‘ Old and formal, fitted to a pretty part, 

With a little hoard of maxims, preaching down a daughter’s heart.’ ” 

All the Leigh affairs had been looked into at last, and it 
was seen what enormous sums Lord Leigh had, since 
his marriage, cast into that bottomless pit of gambling. Hard 
as he had striven during life to hide his crying vices from 
the world, and keep before men an undeserved fair name, 
his evil habits must come out like ghouls to mock out and 
gibber above his tomb. 

It was this thought, and the thought that her son must 
grow up to a sullied name, and to condemn his father's 
memory, that brought from the eyes of the little countess a 
rain of tears, when next day she and Lord Alwood, and Mr. 
Storms and the steward, were consulting together in the 
library. 

“ What I want is," she said, “that all these deficiencies 
may be made good, and everything made right, so that no 
one shall ever know that things were so wrong, that my boy 
shall never hear his father spoken against. When he is of 
age, I want him to find all his affairs in such order that he 
shall feel that he had the wisest, kindest, most exemplary 
father in the world. What will become of him, if he can- 
not regard his father in that way? There is all my income 
— every penny of it. I do not want any money. I will 
live here very plainly. Just tell me how I can reduce the 
expenses, and give you a large margin of money to make ail 
good, and protect Norman's memory." 

The three men looked at each other, with moist eyes. 
He had been a bad man, and a bad husband, but what 
noble faithfulness and unselfishness she showed toward 
him! 

Then a light came to Violet's face. 

“Why cannot I advance all this money and let it come 
back, just as the estate can bear it? I can make Uncle 
Henry promise never to tell this sad affair. I will go to 
London and see him to-morrow." 

“Take Mr. Storms along to show him the security is 
good," said Lord Alwood. 

And so next morning the widowed heiress-conntess went 
to hot, dusty, deserted London, taking grim, matter-of-fact 


274 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


Mr. Storms for her sole attendant. She went, intent on 
rescuing from dishonor the name she wore so sadly. 

Henry Ainslie was nearly dumb with amazement when 
his niece came to his counting-room and begged for a pri- 
vate interview. 

“ Dear uncle," said Violet, taking his hand, when they 
were alone, and laying her cheek against his shoulder, “I 
come to you for help and advice; and first, you must prom- 
ise never to tell what I shall say to you to-day." 

“ I may need to," said Mr. Ainslie, doubtfully. 

“But you will not, and must never, never. I confide only 
in you. Will you promise?" 

“ Yes," said Uncle Ainslie, much flattered. 

And the little countess told her story. 

“ Do you mean to say he has devastated the immense 
sum he got with you at your marriage?" cried the banker. 

“ That went to pay debts — he married me for that," said 
poor Violet. 

“ And got through with about as much more. How long 
is it since you were married, Violet?" 

“ A little over three years," faltered Violet. 

“Heavens and earth!" cried the scandalized financier, 
“ if he had lived three years longer, you would all have 
been beggars." 

Violet laid he hand on his lips. 

“Uncle, I come, not to condemn him, but to save his 
reputation." 

“ And how do you propose to do it?" 

Violet told her plan, and had Mr. Storms explain the 
business part thereof. 

“You will make this loan in my behalf, uncle." 

“ And you really mean to keep out of society, and econ- 
omize year after year for this man’s sake?" 

“ And Rupert’s, you know," said Violet, gently. 

“ Buried alive at Leigh Towers!" 

“ But Lady Burton will bury herself with me." 


CHAPTER LXII. 

“THE SAFE, SWEET MORNING BREAKS, ON LAND AND SEA." 

Life at the Towers sped happily, if quietly. Pleasant 
friends went and came. The little earl was quite a wonder 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


275 


of beauty and brightness. And now fully two years had 
passed since the day when nearly all the county followed 
the funeral train of Lord Leigh. 

“ Violet, my dear,” said Lady Burton, on a bright late 
September morning, “I wish you would do me a favor.” 

“ With all my heart. What is it?” said the countess. 

“ Lay by this morning garb and resume other dress. You 
have worn this long enough. Let little Rupert remember 
his mother as bright and young, and not always in this 
somber guise.” 

It was a year since Violet had used her crape and bom- 
bazine, but still her wardrobe boasted only black, or, at 
brightest, lavender, and she wore her eap. She did not 
make any remonstrances in favor of “wearing black 
always.” She knew that that might do where the heart 
mourns as the black suggests. She only said: 

“Why, Lady Burton, if I lay aside these things, what 
have I to wear?” ^ 

“Kate and I have been in a little plot,” said Lady Bur- 
ton, as Kate opened a wardrobe door. “ See, we have pre- 
pared several toilets for you.” 

Violet could not help looking with some longing at the 
costumes, as Kate laid them on the bed and chairs. She 
had always liked bright, pretty things, and she was still 
young, and her cheerful, arch spirits had been rising again 
in the free, safe, happy life of past months. 

“ Let me make you pretty for breakfast,” said Kate, for 
it was yet early, and Violet was sitting by her dressing- 
table, and Kate was arranging the lovely brown hair. 

So Kate put away the cap and did the brown hair in its 
old-time pretty rings and general fluffiness, ' and dressed 
Violet in a white pique, trimmed with quaint Irish point 
and beautified with knots of cream-colored ribbon. Then 
she put at her neck a great cluster of purple and golden 
pansies. 

“ I declare!” cried Lady Burton, “you look your old self, 
without a day's change. One might fancy that the last six 
years had turned backward, and you were little Miss Ainslie, 
not yet introduced ” 

But then a child's voice rang shrill and clear from the 
terrace, where Rupert was playing horses with his faithful 
Jenny. 

“No, never that,” said Violet, looking at her friend, in 


276 


A HEARTS BITTERNESS. 


her witching way, between smiles and tears. “ For it is 
better as it is. What would I, what would the world do, 
without Rupert?” 

Then they went down to breakfast, and Rupert, who had 
feasted on porridge and milk, two hours before, put his 
sunny head into the room, and shouted with admiration of 
his “ pretty mamma.” 

After breakfast Lady Burton said: 

“Violet, I wish I had some wild-cardinal flowers to paint 
for this velvet screen I am making for Edna's birthday. Do 
you remember where they grow, just in the hollow near the 
spring, that they call the ‘ Maid's Bower?' ” 

“Oh, yes, and they are abundant there now.” 

“ Would you not go and get me some? I think the walk 
will be good for you. You have been sitting over your ac- 
counts, like a clerk, these two days.” 

So Violet took a little basket, and a pair of scissors, 
and put on a quaint, childish scoop bonnet, made of Irish 
point over cream silk, from under which her lovely, round, 
dimpled, rosy face looked out in the most bewitching way 
imaginable, and away she went to the “ Maid's Bower.” 

But when she had filled her basket, she stood suddenly 
still, and went into a^ dream — for the slumberous beauty 
of the warm golden day brought back the idyl of her life 
— the woods in Lincolnshire, where Kenneth and she had 
wandered hand in hand. She had been having letters, 
for a year, from Kenneth, nice, friendly letters, about his 
travels and his ward, but with no word of coming home. 
She sighed. There were times, when her loving, clinging 
heart longed after Kenneth, as the one great comfort in all 
the world. 

“Violet!” 

The voice made her start and drop the basket, and trem- 
ble like a frightened fawn. 

And there was Kenneth! Bronzed some with foreign suns, 
and with his whiskers rather fuller, but still her own Saxon 
Kenneth, with the smiling blue eyes, and the winning 
smile, the strong and loyal heart. And she held out her 
hands to him, with a cry of : 

“Kenneth ! Oh, Kenneth!” 

He clasped her in his arms. His Violet, his only, his 
forever ! 

They sat down under a beach tree; and now at last he 


A HEART'S BITTERNESS. 


277 


could tell her how he had passionately loved her all those 
long, long years; and now she could listen to that outpour- 
ing of his love. 

The long and terrible bitterness of her heart had fled 
away like a dark and hideous dream of night, when safe, 
sweet morning breaks over land and sea. Her heart had 
found its true shelter, and she rested in sweet content with 
in the circle of his arm. Suddenly she smiled in his face. 

“ Kenneth, I know you had planned this with your 
mother.” 

And so Violet returned to London the next season, and 
was again presented at court, but now as Lady Keith. And 
all that London season Violet Keith shone as a bright, 
particular star in London life, and for another season there- 
after. But not merely was she noted for her fair face and 
charming manner, her immense wealth and exquisite taste, 
as for her lovely sympathy, her wide generosity, her noble 
rectitude, for all that makes a woman admirable, as mother, 
wife, and friend. 

One evening, in the House of Peers, a door opened, not 
far behind the famous woolsack, whereon the Lord Chan- 
cellor sat in the biggest of wigs, with an enormous hat laid 
at his right side. Through the door came a very beautiful 
boy of six, dressed in a suit of purple velvet, with full lace 
ruffles. The little fellow stole softly along to the side of 
the woolsack, and, awed by the imposing presence of all his 
brother peers, and the bench of bishops in full lawn sleev’es, 
he gave what he considered a very private and confidential 
grasp of his friend, the Lord Chancellor’s arm. This was 
Rupert, Earl of Leigh, at his first appearance in the Upper 
House. His clutch of the Chancellor was seen with a quiet 
smile by his two guardians, Lord Keith, and the Marquis 
of Alwood, in the body of the House, and by two very 
beautiful peeresses in their gallery, Edna, of Alwood, and 
Violet Keith. 


[the ehd.] 


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